


Acts Of Repetition

by SE_Soignee (Soignee), Soignee



Series: Sirens Era [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Case Fic, Crime Scenes, F/M, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Murder, i wrote this for meeeee, neon noir, the usual sirens crew, this is a love story disguised as a crime one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 74,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soignee/pseuds/SE_Soignee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soignee/pseuds/Soignee
Summary: “What did I do before Oriana? Talk to the cat? Watch a vid? Clean the apartment? My life seemed to be divided into neat little lines: pre-Ori, post-Ori; before my mother’s death, and after; pre-war, post war.”When Oriana Lee walked into Kolyat's life six months ago, he didn't realise what he was getting into... but knew it was the start of something. Even if he couldn’t quite solve the mystery of her, he still had his work with C-Sec and postwar life on the Citadel to work out first- especially when a life-threatening mould is found on the body of a dead matriarch.Who said life was easy?(Set a few months before Sirens & Selkies.)





	1. Handful of Pearls

There is a weary resignation all off-world drell face, no matter where you end up in life. A simple fact, plainly stated: if you want to feel the warmth of another against your scales, you best learn to find the beauty outside of them.

Learn to love a different face, or have only your memories to keep you up at night. Alien encounters were almost an accepted proclivity of the young, but even for the liberally-minded, there was a countdown attached: _ you will come home after you are done. _

Because it was expected of the Kahje-born, even if you were halfway across the galaxy. The act of returning to the Sea extended itself beyond the concept of drifting souls for us; no one could outrun the ocean, after all. Kahje had become the place you returned to for drell, no matter how far you wandered. 

Memories of your adventures will be but grains of sand, shimmering fragments of nostalgia to look back on. Find a partner in the domes, settle down. Have children -actual drell children, not alien progeny- and increase our dying numbers. Do not let entropy win; do not let the universe forget us.

...or so it goes if you bothered to listen. 

I was not a good drell. While I always thought I’d be alone, it was at the back of my mind that perhaps I might end up with an alien on the Citadel, if the Gods took pity on my solitude. 

_ -her pale shoulder shined against the light of the early morning alarm, a gentle glow of orange strapped to her wrist. I wrapped an arm around her, my scales so different from her softer skin. ‘Ori,’ I said to her slow drowsing. ‘Your alarm- _

It was not Arashu’s pity that led me to Oriana Lee six months ago, but Shepard’s invitation. I attended her Citadel party on her gentle insistence; fitting my father called her his_ siha_ to his last breath, I suppose. Never a god, but a fierce herald of Her word all the same.

Ori was not my first attempt at dating outside my species, but she was my first human. We coped well with the difference, her and me. We were lucky enough that the dice roll of our respected biology converged in many pleasing ways, but that still didn’t mean we understood everything about each other.

It was still new, despite me knowing so much about her. Human peculiarities would trip me up in the oddest of ways, but I could say the same about anyone in Zakera. Drell or turian or Gods damn volus, we all stood out from each other, piled in the Wards. 

_ -I pulled the loose hair out of the sink, nearly gagging. She was worse than the cat- how could she lose so much, where did it even come from? ‘Could you clean up after yourself, this is- _

It took me a while to get used to human shedding, even with a cat. There was no escape from the memory, trapped as I was in the locked doors of my cruiser. I breathed through my mouth, eyes on the horizon.

But not everything was easy together, we knew this. There are two dominant schools of thought to harmonious interspecies living; one is that we should embrace the difference, that we are all individuals defined by the cultural tics and manners of our upbringing. 

The other is that we are all the fucking same, and just a month working in C-Sec rammed home the view to even the most optimist of souls. Because despite the physicalities, people are people wherever you go, we want the same things in life. We all grieved. We all laughed at something too, even if it was lost in translation.

_ -Krios, did you hear the one about the drell who forgot?’ A thumping slap landed on my back, and I scowled at T’Lori- _

Three years in C-Sec taught me a lot. We all bled, even if it was a different colour from our neighbours. We all breathed in something. Even the salarians passed on their progeny in joy, believe it or not. We all took part in some evolutionary circle of life, somehow smart enough to make it to the Citadel. 

Not that reaching the Wards was a standard for intelligence now, of course. All species were very much capable of idiocy, my mandatory beat years saw to that; no one liked drunk tank shifts for a reason, but not even alcohol was an excuse for the truly stupid. 

_ -come on man, it’s new. I bet you ain’t heard it.’ I took a step away from Bats, but the smug bastard followed me. ‘So. A drell and an elcor are bondmates, and the elcor goes, ‘with great enthusiasm! I am going to the store, do you- _

A shard of grit clicking against the windshield of my cruiser pulled me from the punchline, lost in the silence of my thoughts. Thrice fucking queues, I hated them. 

_ >Still on the highway, _ I wrote Ori in a text, scowling at the holdup. I saw the reply flash before I even closed window.

_ >K. _

Just ‘K,’ one annoying letter. For a woman who could talk complete nonsense for hours, Ori’s texts were short and dashed off, especially to me.

But I was here in the endless traffic for her; a fool for big blue eyes and soft warmth, the ghost of the memory next to me in the skycar. I had spent half my allotted break time sitting here, bored out of my skull.

Dispatch finally spoke over the silence in a crackle, a female voice I could not place. I knew there were new hires this quarter, spread slowly over our overworked departments. “601 on route near Zakera Highway,” she said, a turian’s flanged drawl. “Suspect on foot near the Keeper paths. Eyes on the skies, you are free to pursue, over.”

Grit and fumes whipped in the air from the overhead flow of the highway, hitting the barrier of my windows in disconcerting clicks. “Amonkira guide you,” I said, scowling over head at the flashing blue of the traffic constables going past. There was nothing I could do, despite my badge; the call was for them, not wayward homicide detectives on their lunch break.

_ -please, there’s no one else to ask,’ Ori said. I heard the desperation in her voice, and I caved. ‘It won’t take long, I promise- _

A pale varren popped their head over the skycar seat in front of me as soon as the traffic moved, right in the middle of my eye line. It blinked once, then licked the window, gormless eyes still fixed on me.

“For fuck’s sake.” A window-licking varren was still better company than Bats T’Lori, I suppose. The vehicle had batarian licence plates below the official Citadel registration system, and I wondered if their pet was legal- not that mine was, but still. Instead, I looked away, busying my hands with a pinch of _ se’aus _ to avoid the sight.

_ -Oriana recoiled at the taste, frowning at she looked for a place to spit out her mouthful. ‘That’s all you do, just leave it on your gums? Drell smoking is strange, why- _

She may have hated my tobacco habit, but _ se’aus _ was the one indulgence that got me through rough shifts. The stuff was a legal crutch, chasing both the pinch of hunger and taste of crime scenes out of my mouth, a working man’s addiction.

The rest of my journey was faster once I reached the slipstream away from gaping varren and dirty highways; the Gods favoured me an open parking space near Ori’s apartment complex, a rarity.

I only had twenty minutes left of my break, trapped in the soulless box of her neighbourhood. The place was all greys and glass, stacked little boxes devoid of personality, hastily thrown up to home a broken Citadel. 

Buildings like this were everywhere after the War. Capitalism had moved in and taken over from the extinct Keepers, which meant the Council -and private commerce- could build whatever they wanted in prime locations. Despite the rush of construction, several of the apartments around here were empty, leased out so the rich could have their third home again.

I still had to run to her place to make it in time, uniform zipped up out of view. As soon as I reached the sixth floor of her apartment, I barely had time to breathe before a holo of Ori waved at me through the interface.

“I’m so late,” she said, the real thing smiling at me as the door opened. Ori was only in her bathrobe, stress cutting her painted face into pinched lines.

As soon as the lock slid into place behind me, the robe came off. “And hello to you too,” I replied, unsure what to do with myself.

“Yeah, sorry. Hello.” I admired the lace of her underthings as she walked away; the cutouts at the back almost looked like scale stripes, a tempting sight.

“It’s fine.” Perhaps this was a better way to pass a lunch break after all; the only remaining option was a vending machine snack over incident forms or sloppy rations from the canteen. Ori was better company than Patel and T’Lori, even if I skipped lunch to be here.

She knew I was looking. Ori turned her back to me with an eye roll, picking up a dress that -despite the mess of her apartment- had been reverently laid out on her couch, strings of pearls clicking together as she lifted the thing over her head. 

It was also the reason I was here. “I can’t do this myself, I tried,” she said, twisting it into place. A series of complicated fastenings lined the small of her back, and I was unsure what to touch. “I couldn’t exactly ask the doorman. Pull the ribbons, please. Tight as you can go, bottom to top.”

“That’s all?” Ori made a sound like she was being strangled as I laced her in, and the dress automatically squeezed her waist with hidden mechanics I couldn't see in the lining. “Can you even breathe in this instrument of torture, or should I loosen something?”

She took a deep breath to spite me. “Of course I can. It’s actually very cosy, like wearing a constant hug.”

I chuffed my disagreement and clicked the final fastening in place. She chose something low cut and her usual purple, but this time it was the colour of dried asari blood.

_ -make sure you get that,’ DI Hoorik said. ‘The splatter looks like it came from behind, she was stabbed from the- _

I pinched the memory away before more victims came, staring at nothing. Or so I thought.

“I’m so glad you like it,” she said, leaning up to match my gaze. Ori’s words dripped in sarcasm, and I startled myself into the present. 

I took a step back. “It’s very nice.”

She lifted the sharp line of her bodice, amused at the hands behind my back. “I feel obliged to tell you my eyes are up here, but you look like you're in pain.”

I wasn’t, but it appeared she was. Her entire outfit was a constructed feat of engineering held up by flimsy pearls, mounds of soft humanity on show. “How do they not fall out?” I asked, vaguely gesturing at her cleavage. “Can you even move?”

“It’s for a gala, not a construction site. I’ll be fine.” 

Dull events and charity dinners were a part of Ori’s job as a colony developer, but this level of expensive fuss was new. I had a suspicion Kellam Industries only sent her because she filled out a dress in pleasing ways, and not for her in-depth knowledge of civil engineering. 

My tongue tripped me into the hole I was digging, just as it always did. “Asari think very highly of breasts. The gala is for Thessia’s rebuilding, is it not? I, ah, presume they’re on show for a reason.”

_ -Krios man I know you’re drell, but you gotta appreciate a fine rack once in your life and- _

Ori opened and closed her mouth once. “Presumptions say more about what you don’t know then what you do. I thought that was a dirty word for a detective?”

I cleared my throat. “By the laws of C-Space, it refers to accepting something as true in the absence of proof.”

“So I’m in the right after all.”

There was ice in her gaze. “You look beautiful,” I replied. Judging by her eye roll, it was too little too late. I tried to bite my foolish tongue before it got me in trouble again, but I slipped up. “You just seem more… eye-catching than usual.”

The price of her outfit was unsaid, but even I knew enough about clothing to silently count the credits. “I’m not there to fade into the background this time,” she said. “I usually do, just sit there and smile in my sackcloth and beg for funds. Tonight I’m attending as a guest- in theory, anyway.”

“In theory?” I hated being right. There was always something else, some hidden motive behind even a pretty dress.

“All I have to do is to remind people of Kellam’s work, that’s all. Laugh at their jokes, say the _ elesa _ is awful this year, that you just can’t get the staff these days.” Her tones had become clipped, a put upon air of superiority. “But wouldn’t you know it, our own upcoming gala is soon. Just a little soirée, or course- would you be interested in a ticket?”

My face must have shown some of my distaste. Ori gently flicked the centre scales of my brow, painted eyes narrowed at me. “Stop that. I know how to handle myself against the old guard; they should worry about me. Will that be all, or do you have further questions, officer?”

Gods damn police metaphors will be the end of me. “My mother used to tell my father that first impressions were always wrong but still useful.” I don’t know why I told Ori that, but I did. 

“She’s right. The more you tell me about your mother, the more I like her.” My jacket was tugged. I leaned down to kiss her before she could sass me further, but she sighed into my lips. “You taste of _ se’aus _, please tell me it’s not in your mouth.”

“Of course not.” Even I wouldn’t kiss my girlfriend with a mouthful of tobacco. Instead, I ran a hand on the pearls -probably synthesised- that lined her shoulders, compelling things to touch.

_ -gods damn pearl licker,’ Uncle said, and I startled. He was on one of his political rants again, waving at the vid screen. ‘If he were any further up her thighs she would birth him herself- _

I looked up, Ori amused by my petting of her collarbone. “So you do approve. Not that your opinion is worth much of anything.”

“These are nice.” The pearls on her shoulders were almost golden next to the pale pink of her skin, and she twitched in silent laughter when I still trailed a finger along them. “Do you know what they mean to a drell?” I asked, pinching a strand between my fingers.

Ori narrowed her eyes, and I smiled- of course she would know. “Depends on the gender, but it’s the same metaphor for humans. All girls have a pearl. Many men of my species need a map to find it, too.”

We didn’t have that problem, I was diligent. “Poor you.” I knew I was smiling, and she poked the crease of cheeks before she pulled away. “Did you know drell women have two?”

“I can survive with one, I think. Like a kidney.” Oriana moved to the mess on her couch to find something, slower than usual thanks to the construction of her outfit. “You have strands of pearls too. Does that translate well, or do I have to break the metaphor down?” 

Pearls were always feminine coded to drell, but I got the point. “I don’t think you’re in the mood,” I said. This was already an interesting way to spend my lunch break, and I put my hands behind my back again before they got me in trouble. 

“Smart man. Still late.” Despite the apparent urgency of her words, Oriana was still not ready. She fussed and reached for something from a messy purple -of course it was purple- bag, yanking a strange heated brush through her hair as she did. The thing looked like a medical instrument, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d assume it would hurt her scalp. 

“You look fine,” I told her. A particular strand of hair bothered her, and she glared at it- or me, all things considered.

Before I got the full force of her sass again, my omni-tool interrupted us both. Hoorik’s short message cut through the apartment, and I stood straighter to receive it. “Krios. 603, Mainwae Heights. Now.”

I muted it before Ori could hear the whole thing, especially since it came from my boss. “On my way,” I replied. I had a strong suspicion I would be lectured for my out-of-jurisdiction lunch break in the Upper Wards, but at least I could use the sirens to cut through the choking lanes of the highway.

Ori had paused her vanity to watch me, despite my efforts to shield her from the conversation. “What’s a 603?” 

It meant there was a hostage situation, but I had a strong suspicion she knew and was testing me. “Suspected gunfire, victims still alive,” I said, even though I didn’t want to; C-Sec used code for a reason. “I’ll be fine, I’m only the backup.”

I kissed her forehead on the way out, right where a frown creased it again. “Let me know you’re okay after, at least,” she said. “A quick message or something, doesn’t have to be a call.”

“Of course.” That DI Hoorik sent it instead of dispatch was important, it meant things were fraught. I was needed and walked out the door without so much as a backwards glance. “Try to enjoy your gala,” I said. “I have to go.”

It took me five minutes to reach the location with the lights and sirens, faster than my time on the freeway. The situation was strained; a disturbed salarian held part of his family hostage, over what appeared to be an old clan issue. 

That we were called in meant the situation needed empathy, not gunfire, but we still proceeded with caution. “Nice lunch?” Bats asked, nodding at me. He was a pale blue asari that barely reached my shoulder, and the only member of the squad I knew from my beat days when I worked as a constable. 

We had history, to my misfortune- but he was still a good cop. “It _ was _,” I replied, eyeing the raid armour he had slung over his uniform. “How bad?” 

A snort was my answer first. “No shooting yet. Hoorik’s up front, Special Response on standby. The suspect’s ex-military. History of anti-social behaviour, blah blah blah.” 

Bats waved the rest of the conversation off, and I sighed. The suspect’s story was similar to many soldiers after the war. The vids -and the turians who founded C-Sec- made out that talking with terrorists was the worst thing to do, that it was giving in to demands.

Even if the Council had no intention of granting them, the process itself was vital to the survival of the hostages. Special Response would’ve knocked down the door and blown the suspect to bits by now, but DI Hoorik operated under a different system.

I crept along the empty apartment to find my boss, surrounded by C-Sec barriers. Detective Patel waiting behind the barrier, a middle aged human with his sidearm subtly hidden from view. He was the kind of cop that preferred to work at his desk with several snacks to hand, but Patel was a surprisingly good shot with his pistol.

He was our go-to man to have at our six, if you could put up with him staring at your ass. Patel winked at me once when I knelt beside him, something I ignored to focus on our boss. “Maybe if you let the children go,” she said, talking through a metal door. “They’re frightened, they don’t understand. We can still talk, I am listening.”

Hoorik was the second human on our squad, and in charge of our workload as our DI. She was in charge of deciding what cases we were assigned, often in odd ways that baffled even Patel, who put her occasional abstract thinking down to being “European,” a statement not even Ori could explain to me.

A reply finally came through a tinny interface, distorted by static. I could hear it was a salarian, one step away from following though with his threats. “Oh they understand, the shits,” he said. “They won’t shut up crying, shut up crying, I am trying to _ think _-”

“But they’re not needed,” Hoorik replied. “Let them go, yes? You can take me instead, if that is helpful. A C-Sec detective is worth more to them.”

The hallway was silent. Two confused children were shoved outside the door after a slow minute, to our relief. Hoorik looked up at me, and I picked the pair of them up without question, running from the situation as fast as I could. 

I’m sure my boss talking down a suicidal veteran would be a masterclass in empathy, but I remained outside with the children. I sat the pair of them on the roof of my cruiser, and the three of us waited for a medical team to arrive in the middle of chaos.

They were scared, I would be. I was-

_ -Kolyat, mind if I call you that?’ The lady put a blanket over my shoulders, and I shrugged. I had never been in the back of a police skycar before. ‘No one can hurt you now, we’re here to- _

“I’m cold,” said the oldest one. I put him at four years, almost a teenager by a salarian’s count. 

His younger cousin clung to his side, face dripping with snot. I pulled off my jacket and draped it over them both, trying not to shiver into my stab vest. “Don’t touch anything in the pockets,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because something might bite back.” 

“No it won’t,” the oldest said, suspicious of my words.

“But there are sharp things to hurt yourself with,” I told him. “So don’t go poking. What are your names?”

“Gorot the Third Menarot Sal Rinest Tot Inoste Lumin.” It was said in one breath, and I smiled. He had answered me without fear- children often did, even with a uniform on. 

“What do prefer to be called?” I asked.

I don’t think he was asked that much, judging by his confused blinking. “I’m Lumi. This is Sav.”

“My name’s Kolyat. I’m a detective with C-Sec.” 

“I know.” Sav poked his head from out of the older boy’s arms. A round pair of eyes double blinked at me, just like a drell child would. “Stop moving, Sav,” he was told. “You’re bony.” 

A small cuddly toy was held in the youngest’s hands. I touched the grubby head of it, a well-loved creature. I knew it was a child’s version of an animal from Sur’Kesh, but had only seen them in vids. “What’s this? Looks fierce.”

“It’s a guardian,” he said. “He chomps.” 

Sav motioned the toy to bite my hand. “Ouch,” I said dutifully. “Does he have a name?”

“He’s just a toy. It used to roar, but Uncle Tivo took the battery out because of the war. No noise, idiot.”

His last words sounded like a repetition of something, a scolding he often heard. “I’ve not seen a guardian before. Do they make good pets?” 

“Don’t know. Uncle says we used to have one, Dalatress did. He said it was mean.”

_ -Fish why,’ I said, watching as her teeth and claws sunk into my hand. ‘Why do you even roll over anyway if you- _

“I have a pet cat,” I told them. “Want to see?” Technically having Fish in my apartment was the cause of several residential violations, but I doubt two small children would know that.

“Is it nice?” Lumi asked, so I showed them via my omni-tool. The holo of a disinterested Fish watching out the window played on, Sav’s already wide eyes watching intently the cat yawned. “Sharp.”

“Only sometimes. Her name is Fish,” I said. “She can chomp too. She’s from Earth.”

They were already bored, and my shared jacket slipped from their small shoulders in their fidgeting. “Got any games?” Lumi asked, staring at my omni-tool interface. 

“No. You can watch a vid if you want, I have-”

“_ Adventures of Agent Yurt _!”

“I don’t know what that is, but sure.” The tinny sounds of a salarian kid’s show played on through an extranet site via my ‘tool, even while the medical team finally arrived to check them over.

I heard the shot fired. The children did too, and I looked at the concerned ambulance worker over their heads. “Stay here with Sav,” I said to Lumi. He had shut down, stilled in a mechanism experienced victims numbed themselves with to cope. “Make sure he’s okay.”

Hoorik walked past me without saying anything before I got there, shock and relief etched in her features. Another medical team ran in the direction she had come, past her stiffened figure.

“Ma’am?” I asked, clueless of the outcome. A sharp gesture of her hand was my only answer, and left her alone. Instead I watched her leave to gather herself by the flashing lights of First Response, hands on her hips as she stared into the distance. It was all too human, just like Ori. She did the same when stressed, but with more pacing.

Patel nudged me with his shoulder, lurking as he was behind me. “All good,” he said, following my gaze.

“What happened?” We both watched as the children were hugged by a sobbing relative, a thin man even for a salarian. We didn't get many clear-cut wins as this, and the pair of us watched the reunion in silence.

“Suspect tried to shoot himself, didn’t work," Patel said, after a pause. "T’Lori and the constables are dealing with the aftermath, I think DI Hoorik needs a break. You missed a good show, lad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have nine chapters written of this already, with three already beta'd. I will have a regular posting schedule on Fridays; I will still be updating Sirens too, if you can forgive the timeline jumps- Sirens is set a few months after this story. I really did write this story for me; I have been gently encouraged to post it, and hope you enjoy reading it as much as I had writing it.
> 
> The title is taken from a form of _repetition compulsion_, a psychological phenomenon in which a person repeats an event or its circumstances over and over again, or puts themselves into situations where the event is likely to happen again. This "re-living" can also take the form of dreams in which memories and feelings of what happened are often repeated, and sometimes even hallucinated. 
> 
> (Or, if you're a drell, just a normal Tuesday.)


	2. My Weeping Heart

The rest of our shift was less dramatic, but only if you count a botched robbery attempt a lack of drama. I did what I was told and sent Ori a quick message while I wrote my arrest report, and got my reply five minutes after.

_ >good thanku for writing._ She somehow forgot what punctuation was in our private IMs, but I had seen worse- I worked with Bats T’Lori, for one.

“Don’t know ‘bout you, Krios, but I need a drink,” he said, itching the blue fronds of his crest. “That was dicey, we deserve it.”

“Must be Tuesday then,” Patel said. “I might even come.” 

“You always do, it’s Krios who don’t. ‘Sides, we need to buy Hoorik a large one, even if we’re in the shit. I ain’t looking forward to the report, man. Captain ain’t going to be happy we took a Special Response gig.”

Hoorik had kept herself to her own office as soon as we came back, a clear refusal to go home early. Patel even brought her a coffee and a candy bar from his own endless piles of snacks, breaking into the hidden reserves.

It was a small act of quiet sympathy, but her door remained closed despite it. Patel swivelled in his chair, linked hands behind his head. “We talked down a PTSD-ridden veteran with no injuries to anyone. Hoorik will get a medal for the trouble, mark my words.”

Even I smirked at that. There would be nothing but petty departmental whining, and we all knew it. “You comin’ then?” Bats asked, noticing my smile.

What I wanted was to go home and decompress, not drink in a loud bar. Maybe I could meet up with Ori if she finished early, but unlikely. Her job seemed nicer than mine in hindsight, but I wouldn't trade it in for the universe itself. I’d rather deal with a terrabyte of tax fraud than suffer through eight hours of a gala squeezed into formal wear, but we didn’t have to agree on everything.

_ -I’m an engineer at heart,’ she said. ‘Ever played Sim Colony 3000? That’s what I do, just on hard mode. I just need to deal with red tape first to get to it, that’s the- _

I always felt the illiterate cop next to her. I suppose I was, considering our jobs. 

“Quit doing weird drell memory shit,” Bats said, throwing a balled up rations wrapper at me. “Answer me, pisshole. You comin’ or not?”

I could’ve said no. “I suppose,” I replied.

“Famous last words,” Patel said, a twinkle in his eye. I didn’t trust it. “Phalia’s coming too, I asked. I’ll go see if Hoorik wants to join our merry band.” 

Of course he asked Phalia to come. As the precinct’s custody sergeant, Phalia knew every cop that walked through the doors; her and Patel loved to gossip about them, too.

“Only for a few drinks,” I said, wondering who else he had invited. Despite seeing -and sometimes, stepping in- what over consumption of alcohol does to the Wards, cops loved to drink. No C-Sec officer was ever told twice to go to the bar, but I still needed to be dragged by my fins to go.

There was a reason. Several, really. One was that I had no desire to see my colleagues stagger down the slope into complete inebriation, but the main culprit was my own thrice-fucked ability to keep up with them.

Most drell had a social curse, thanks to the way our bodies processed alcohol; we got drunk very quickly, even if we could burn it off fast. The hardened alcoholics of my kind dealt with the flaw by constant binge drinking, but the rest of us went dry or stuck to a limit.

_ -the tequila came back up, even though my nostrils. ‘Sweet Arashu fuck me gently,’ I said, clinging to the cold of the motel’s toilet. Father handed me a towel and- _

It was safe to say I would never touch tequila again. Not that our local drinking hole served the vile stuff, thank all the Gods. Even the smell was enough to make me retch. 

My shudder did not go unnoticed. “Home away from home,” said Patel, smiling at me. 

“What, old drunks and sticky floors?” Bats replied. “You wanna tell us something, Patel?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’ve seen the inside of your apartment.”

_ -why don’t drell have titties,’ he mumbled, collapsing in the hallway. ‘I'm sorry you don’t have titties.’ I tried picking him up again, recoiling at the smell of stale booze. ‘Bats, Gods dammit. Which door is yours- _

Patel was still smiling at us both. “There’s a quiz-VI, too. One day I’ll win something, poured enough credits into it.” 

The place wasn’t bad, despite what was said. _ Thin Blue Line _ was as asari-run establishment heavily frequented by our precinct, a cop bar run by an ex-cop. The name itself meant a lot of things to different species -mostly genital related- but to drell it was the horizon of the sea. 

Fitting, considering how dead this place was. Hoorik trailed behind the group as we entered the bar, stiffened hands behind her back. She looked at me when she noticed my backwards glance, and returned it with sharp one of her own.

I got the hint and left her alone. The elcor that was always at the bar nodded once and returned to his liquor when we turned up, a minor interruption to his day of steady drinking. “Hi honey, we’re home,” Patel said, patting the quiz-VI on the way in. “I’m feeling lucky.”

I was infrequent with my visits here, but it was still enough to be recognised by the owner. Umi waved me over before we reached our usual dark corner, eyes lighting up at my arrival. “Krios! _Finally._ I need your eye for something.” 

Umi was always cheerful, despite the quiet. She lived every retired cop’s dream and owned a bar, even if the place was used by her old colleagues. “You gettin’ them in first?” Bats yelled, cutting over the faint pop music of the bar. 

I ignored it. “Is there a problem?”

Judging by her look it could be. Umi jerked her head to the side of the bar for privacy, a cleaning cloth draped over her shoulder. “A sweet girl from my suppliers sent me some Weeping Heart freebies,” she said. “I want you to look over them before I put them up, it's all drell stuff.”

To some, I was the only one of my kind they would ever see in person, but Weeping Heart ads still travelled the galaxy. I even had an ex-girlfriend who worked in their PR department, or so she called it. It was a more polite way of saying she served shots off her body in bars and clubs, but somehow it still paid more in tips than my probationary wage as a constable.

“Was she a young woman with yellow scales and an orange frill? Ah, a drell, I mean.”

“Nope. Blue like me, a maiden too. The kind T’Lori would wet himself over, if you know what I mean. Straight out of the colonies and with a point to prove to Mommy.”

I was relieved the ghost of my ex was banished from my local bar, but I was still left with the annoyance of being asked for a ‘drell’s opinion’ on something. Umi unfurled a holo-poster with a flick of her omni-tool, and the sticky bar soon lit up in gaudy colours. 

The Weeping Heart adverts were predictably awful, the usual shiny models suspiciously free of flaws on their scales. Somehow all of them accidentally lost their clothes in the desert, but at least there was a bottle of liquor to drink. 

“What exactly do you want me to say?” I asked, unsure what to do with myself.

“Don't want to piss anyone off if I decide to put them up,” she said. By anyone, she meant _ me._ “Had to change what soap I used in the bathrooms once, offended a regular. Said it smelled like the flowers used in a funeral rite, whatever that means. You just never know with people.”

The lone elcor at the end of the bar eyed us both, pedipalps moving in distaste. “It's an advert for an awful liquor,” I said. “I’m not the target audience.”

My people were often marketed as the exotic stranger outside of Kahje, but the adverts never lined up to what we found attractive about ourselves. Oh, the models were still all stunning to my eyes, of course. Bright scales and bright eyed, all enticing you drink with the pretty drell. One girl even cavorted in a cocktail glass, just as lithe as an asari dancer. 

But it was still _ their _ version of sex, not ours. “You think they’re too much?” Umi asked, as I frowned at the scrolling holos. I finally recognised one, at least; a green scaled actress from a soap my uncle liked to watch, a terrible reality show about a Belan beach resort. 

“Not exactly tasteful,” I replied. “I’ve no idea why people drink the stuff.”

_ -I’ve researched things,’ she said. ‘Some of it useless. Even had a Weeping Heart,’ Ori was still flushed from our kiss, dress undone at the shoulder. ‘Just made the lights brighter, I- _

Umi shrugged. “It gets you fucked up. Why else does anyone drink?”

Plenty of reasons, I thought. “But synthesised scale peelings?” 

It was a familiar conversation I had outside of my species, but at least it was better than the one about Keprals. Drell did not have much of cultural footprint on the galaxy, aside from this thrice fucked drink, the Compact, and dying.

“We can’t all lick ourselves to get high, can we?" she said. "It’ll be an equal opportunity in nudity I promise, I got some Thessian _ elesa _ posters too. Happy maidens pouring wine into a waterfall, seems like a waste of booze if you ask me.”

Umi switched the poster over, not that it was much better. All the model wore was a strategically placed bottle over his crotch, orange scales glistening in the sun. I wondered if Ori would prefer this kind of man to me, it was not as if I was considered good looking. 

_ -I like your scales here,’ she said, tracing a line from my arm to my shoulder with a pale hand. ‘It’s beautiful.’ No one had called me that before, apart from my mother. ‘I think that’s the toxins talking,’ I said- _

She was biased, my Ori. An alien’s view of what I was, which was nothing much of anything. My face was too angular, too brutish, too blunt; my colours were even dull, a washed out teal with lopsided stripes compared to the attractive greens and yellows of my parents. 

_ -a Krios was never meant for beauty, my love. You have my chin.’ Mother tweaked mine then, a following tickle to my frill to make me laugh. ‘Your father married into a practical family, we’re designed to weather storms- _

I did not inherit much in looks from my father. Sometimes I saw his eyes looking back at me whenever I brushed my teeth, but that was it, my one lone inheritance.

Aside from the strange “investments” on quiet planets he also left me with, thrice fucked things. I still had to deal with them; the latest was a Gods damn shipping crate of awful volus paintings, _ why_-

Umi’s throat clear made me look at her, and shook myself of the thought. “Just thought I could dress up the bar is all,” she said. “The Tupari people sent me some nice posters too, it’s not all naked drell and idiot maidens.”

“Do what you like with them,” I said. “I don’t care.”

Umi still had a cop’s instinct, even if she chose to wipe bars for a living. “Guess I can think about it,” she said, frowning at my tone. “What can I get you, anyway? First drink is on me. Only yours, though- T’Lori needs to pay his tab. And tell Patel to stop fiddling with the quiz-VI, I know it’s him trying to hack the thing.”

Buying the squad drinks was a C-Sec culture I loathed, especially since it came with an obligation to return the favour. Instead I bought the inevitable round with a sigh: a levo-Tupari for Patel; a dextro-Drossix for Phalia; a whiskey for Hoorik; a sticky mead for Bats. 

I got myself a human fruit liquor, my one lone drink of the night. “I can’t stay long,” I said. No one thanked me when I came over, despite the loaded drinks tray for their benefit. “I have to go soon.”

“What did Umi want with you?” Phalia asked, shifting her face plates to peer at me.

“Nothing much. Just to look at some merchandise from Kahje.” 

It was the wrong choice of words. They squinted at me in unity, a universal symbol of distrust. My fault, I suppose; I was standing over a table full of cops. “Sounds dodgy,” Patel said, smiling now. “Someone should call C-Sec, there’s been a problem with bootlegging.”

“Yeah? I ain’t no snitch.” Bats grabbed his mead as soon as he could reach it. “Mind your own business and drink.”

The tray dipped at the loss. “Wait until I put the thrice-fucked thing down first, Ocean spare me.” I replied, before shoving the entire tray down with a clatter. “Fine. Enjoy Arashu’s bounty.”

Free booze stopped their questions. A human drinking custom of touching glasses happened after, and I sat down next to T’Lori in a sigh, the only available seat. “Thank you, Krios,” Phalia said, leaning forward on the table to speak to me. “I can’t stay long either, but I’ll get you back. Can’t exactly pick up my son from clawball practise out of my skull plates on Drossix, Not that it's stopped the other parents.”

For once I had a companion to leave with, relieved of the guilt of being the first to go. “I’ll walk out with you,” I said. 

Hoorik looked up from her quiet stare of the table, then reached for her whiskey. At her frowning silence, Phalia and Patel exchanged a look. “That’s sweet of you,” Phalia said to me, faceplates shifting into a smile to fill the quiet. “You can even babysit if you want, not had a proper night out since I got him.”

I knew what memory looked like, even on a human. We left Hoorik alone for our drinks, the rich taste of liquor on my tongue. Sherry, it was called; human alcohol was popular on the Citadel thanks to our time in the Sol system.

It was also a far more pleasing experience than tequila. “I already have my hands full with T’Lori,” I said. 

“My daddy died a hundred years ago, I don’t want another.” Bats flicked his fingers at me; a tiny crackle of biotics sparked, an asari gesture of _ go away_. “You should go out with me more anyway. Might see something that ain’t your own asshole.”

“Need a mirror for that, Batty-bats,” added Patel. He had his chin in his hands as he spoke, looking me over in a way that made my scales crawl. “But Kolyat seems very bendy, I’m sure he can manage. Unless drell have assholes somewhere else I don’t know about. Do you?”

Bats snorted. “Krios has his head shoved up there wherever it is. Night out might loosen something.”

“I’ll pass, I like my memories where they are.” 

“You mean up your ass?” Patel waggled his eyebrows; I ignored it. “You should stay out with us longer, he’s right. I’ve seen many glorious things on the Wards,” he said, tapping his nose. “Always a learning experience with Batty Bats.”

I knew T’Lori liked to drink to blackout in awful holes and back-alley stripclubs, hardly an education. “Not really,” I said. “I know what the inside of a dive-bar looks like.”

“Much like the inside of an asshole I imagine,” Phalia said, a stony brow raised at T’Lori. “The best bars are always questionable. Or so I’m told.” 

“A good turian girl like you wouldn’t know, don’t lie to me.” Bats held a nail bitten hand to his jacket, a pretence at offence. “Anyways, _ Lexi’s Lovelies _ is a classy establishment. How dare you.”

It was a well-worn joke T’Lori was fond of, but Phalia still laughed. “I'll take your word for it.”

I had thought the subject moved on, but Patel had ideas. “Where is it anyway? You never told me, Krios.” I don’t think for one moment any of us thought he was talking about the placement of _ Lexi’s Lovelies_. 

T’Lori crossed his arms, watching me for a reaction. “The Lower Wards,” he said. “Am I right, Krios? The real swampy part.”

I sipped my sweet liquor, refusing to answer them both. Patel nudged me once, almost spilling his drink in the process. “Did you know, the location of alien assholes never came up in my first response training? You’d think it would, seems important.”

“You already know,” Phalia replied, subvocals thrumming with amusement. “Sometimes we even arrest them, I see them in my cells every day.”

Patel tried to nudge me again, but I flinched away before he could. “I know how to clear your airways up top, that’s all that matters. Drell have tricky pipes, apparently. Feel free to stop breathing at any time my friend, I have a certificate in non Council first aid.”

“Good for you, I ain’t licking Krios for nobody.” Bats toasted me with his empty glass, and I shutdown my features into stone before my temper rose. 

“No one is licking anything. Nice to know you have my back though,” I replied. 

T’Lori was offended his loyalty was in question, even if I had every reason to say something. “I meant licking for fun, _ idiot_, even an ugly fuck like you gets the frill chasers. Drell ain’t exactly on my list of things to do. No offence, you got toxins.”

“I've seen you drink ryncol,” I said. “Straight out of the bottle.”

Bats smug smile was infuriating. “Don't count. I ain’t gonna take it home with me for a good time, am I?”

Phalia laughed, a flanged sound. “The drell population of the Citadel weeps, I’m sure. Look at Krios, he’s bereft.”

Bats had a point on the ‘frill-chasers,’ even if his hypocrisy was particularly outstanding. Some asari -usually drunk Maidens- would seek out drell for the perfect melding experience, mainly due to our memories being crystalline-clear for it. Even I was hit on, but I shut it down fast. 

_ -do you want to kiss me?’ she said, tugging at the lapels of my jacket. The lights of Shin Akiba caught her black human hair in streaks of colour. ‘I want you to. I’m sorry, I’ve not heard a word you just said- _

Well, maybe not all the time.

As usual, Patel was still stuck on that one, lone thought, even if the conversation had moved on. “You don’t lick anything for mouth-to-mouth you know,” he said. “I don’t know what training you’ve had, but I was taught to be firm.”

“I’ve been taught many things,” Bats replied, eyes on the bar. Umi scowled his way as soon as she sensed his direct staring, not that it mattered to T’Lori.

It was also the thing that pulled Hoorik from her whisky staring. She followed T’Lori’s gaze, exasperated by his attempts at flirting. “Don’t, Bats,” she said. “I like to drink here, be stupid outside of it.”

“Hmm?” Bats still watched Umi, only stopping when he realised the table was watching him. “I ain’t stupid,” he said. 

Hoorik looked at him and snorted. “Of course you’ve tried ryncol. What was it like?”

“If I remembered, I’d tell you.” Bats shrugged, unrepentant.

Even Patel could read between the lines of the conversation. “Well. You are what you eat, I suppose. Or drink.”

Bats couldn’t stop himself. “The finest of Thessian pussy?” 

_ -mouthful of her, the taste- _

“Bats,” I said, chasing the memory away with sherry._ “Why.”_

Everyone laughed, despite my protest. It dawned on T’Lori then they were laughing at him, not with hI’m. “Oh, the self-burn,” Phalia said, still chuckling. “The hottest of them all.”

“I don’t get it,” Bats replied, an attempt of confusion plastered on his face. “Explain the joke to me. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing wrong with pussies,” Patel said. “Or calling yourself something so delightful. Everyone on this table came from something. At least, I think we did.” 

“Every fucking time, as constant as the tides,” I said, before anyone else could speak. “For _ once, _can we have a normal conversation outside of work that does not involve someone’s genitals?”

It came out harsher than I thought it would. Bats folded his arms, the laughter gone. “That scowl of yours is gonna leave a crease one day, lighten up.”

_ -you should smile more,’ she said, her orange frill pressed against the red of mine. Whatever tenderness we had was gone; I flinched away, too angry to speak. ‘Oh come on, why are you so serious all the time? You look less of an asshole when you- _

I wanted to go home, safe to the silence of my apartment. People were exhausting, and I had reached my fill of them. My introversion was never a problem off-duty, but when Patel and T’Lori wanted to pick away at loose scale of mine, they yanked hard.

Instead Patel nudged me in apology, an indulgent smile at my mood. “No harm meant,” he said. “Honestly. Bats is a big lad, he can take it.”

Hoorik leaned over the table before I could reply, a direct look at us all to settle down. She was still our boss even at a bar, but the silent push of authority was only for a moment. “That reminds me,” she said. “How are the new recruits, Phalia? Still green?”

The idiom was odd, but Phalia got the gist. If you wanted to know anything about anyone in a working precinct, ask its custody sergeant. Phalia was ours, and just about every cop that passed through her lock up spoke to her about something. 

“Interesting question,” she replied, tapping her bare talons on the table. “Absolutely useless, thanks for asking.”

Bats whistled, a low sound. “That bad?” 

“You know that new salarian constable over at the 43rd?” She said, leaning into the table. “Zola, his name is- the one with the floppy horns.”

“Is he wet?” Patel asked. 

“Practically swimming,” Phalia replied, beaming at us again. “Apparently he only got the job through his uncle, some CSI expert or something on Bacherjit.”

Patel slurped his drunk a little too loudly in my ear, and I flinched away. “Not what you know, it’s who you know,” he said. “That’s what makes the Citadel spin.”

“That’s not the best bit,” Phalia said, waving her hands around. “I’ve heard he’s got a blue fetish. I mean, I know salarians pride themselves on curiosity, but I don’t think that’s the sort his dalatress had in mind.”

We all did our best to not look at T’Lori, but he only smiled. “He’ll soon find some dumbfuck Maiden that wants to know what salarian spooge tastes like. There’s like, a special paddlin’ pool or something. Sounds messy.”

“And we’re back to the genitals,” I said, scowling. “Of course we are.” My revulsion at the thought was somewhat hypercritical if they knew about Ori, but there was interspecies line for us all; salarian sex pools crossed well over mine. 

“Not that he’ll get a chance to show them off to anyone,” Phalia added. “Apparently he was clocked as a regular from a raid to an illegal brothel, don’t think he’ll be around for much longer in the uniform.”

“Takes all sorts, really.” Patel shrugged, picking at something on his face. “Story as old as time, even to salarians.” 

“_Hmm.” _Hoorik had barely lifted her head to take part in the conversation, despite the previous warning. She could switch on a scale’s edge in mood, even when I thought I had her worked out.

“Ma’am?” I asked.

“I don’t answer to _ ma’am _ in the bar, Krios. I’m Hoorik off duty, Duanphen if you’re lucky. But this sounds all very sticky,” she said. “This conversation is going dangerous places, I can feel it. Gossip travels fast.”

“Still a better conversation then licking Krios.” Bats stood up so he could look down at us, small bastard that he was. “Anyone want another drink? I’m thirsty.”

“Always are, I find.” Patel finished his drink with a slurping flourish, and held out his empty glass. “Same again, Batty-Bats.”

“Not for me, I should get going,” Phalia said. She towered over Bats in her booted talons, but soon moved out of range so no one craned their necks to reply. “You coming with, Krios?”

Finally, my out_. _ I knocked back my drink as fast as I could, relieved at the chance to leave early. “Come on man, stay.” Bats squinted at me now, hands on his hips. “What do you even with yourself alone, anyway? Wait, I don't want to know.”

I flicked my jacket into shape, wrinkled as it was. “I have to feed my Fish,” I replied. 

“Then get a VI,” he said.

“One day. See you tomorrow, Bats.”

I always felt an asshole leaving early, but it was only a fleeting feeling. In the silence of my apartment I could sit on my couch and watch a show and talk to absolutely no one; the thought propelled my feet home fast, boots unlaced at the door. I finally felt like myself when I crawled into bed after a shared dinner with my cat, much later than I should. 

That she was curled against me was novel, but I had learnt my lesson from my illegal pet early on: affection on her terms, always. Even after a long shift, even when the memories crashed into my thoughts like a skycar accident. Fish never understood my moods; the bite marks around my hands were a sharp reminder when I pushed the limit of her trust, no matter what I felt at the time. I had no idea if her behaviour was normal for cats, but it was for her. She would never act like the ones I saw in vids; humans stuffed the extranet with them, holos of dumb little beasts that came when called and chased the light of an omni-tool.

_ -stop that,’ I told the ball of striped fur. Tiny needle claws dug under my scales, too weak to hurt. It was a cat, I knew that much. They were tired, hungry, weak. Covered in the dust of the rubble, eyes half closed with gunk- _

She had her reasons. Everyone had a war story to tell, even the cat. Fish came from a broken Earth, a survivor found in garbage and rubble. We met due to a mistimed PR stunt for C-Sec; the Citadel was barely held together in the Sol-system, and we had to earn our keep somehow.

Despite her ornery mood I still heard Fish purring beside me, and dimmed the lights so we could both sleep. Our peace was not for long, thanks to my omni-tool. A new message, but not from work, at least. Or, thankfully, a drunk Bats.

_ >u there? _

Ori’s message blinked at me from my omni-tool, waiting for a response. Fish remained oblivious to the light and noise; I always felt guilty moving in bed when the cat was there. Sometimes she would jump off in a sulk when I did, deeply offended her lackey had dared to disturb her. 

_ >I am, _ I replied, sitting up. 

I should be mad she woke me up, but Oriana was no T’Lori. Instead I watched her type in real time, always faster than me. _ >cn i call? _

_ >Sure. _My wrist vibrated in response. The vid window flickered, and I spoke as soon as I saw her. 

“Good morning.” My voice was stuck in my throat frills, and a couple of throat clears returned it to normal. “Just got in?”

“Just about.” She was home at last. Her place was the usual mess, of course. Everyone had a limit with disorder, but Ori’s sleeping quarters was chaos defined. The call showed her surrounded by the detritus of her week, even if she was still dressed in purple finery. 

“That bad?” I asked, trying to focus on her face. I could see takeout boxes and her scattered clothes in a mound on the floor; even the bed was rumpled, pillows still dented from the shape of her. 

_ -I watched her moan beneath me, hair covering her face. An odd sound when she came undone, not like a drell’s. Ori was keening, a loud- _

Well. Maybe they were rumpled for a reason. Ori sighed in relief, a happy sound. “It was truly awful.” It was pointless pushing why, I knew her answer to the why would be vague. “I’m so very happy to see you, though. Hello darling.” 

“Darling?” The misnomer was new. “Are you drunk?” 

“Maybe I’m talking to the food.” Ori made a show of lifting a small pizza box from the floor for the camera, a pantomime of food. A cheerful volus was even printed on the side, pointing at slice of _Speedi Peezza._

I knew the spelling bothered the humans on the squad. Volus-run chains dominated the Citadel, but their attempt at pizza was still new; it suffered the same treatment as it always did with volus, filtered through the shiny commerce of fast-food. I thought the chain was expensive for what it was, but it wasn’t as if I could say anything: I still ate from the precinct’s vending machines on a daily basis. 

“An indulgence,” I said, chuffing in disapproval. It matched her own theatrics, I was only teasing.

Ori folded a small slice in half before taking a bite, hand over her mouth when she spoke. “A treat. They didn’t really feed us, the gala went on for hours. I deserve my grease, it’s been a long day.” 

My belly pinched at the thought of food, a torture to watch live. “I’m only jealous.”

Ori smiled sweetly. “I’d share if you were here.” The temptation was strong, but so was the warmth of my bed. 

“That an offer?”

“The pizza might be gone when you get here, but yes.”

“Hmm. Effort,” I said, stretching out my arms to settle back down under the covers. “You look tired.” 

It was an obvious truth. Her face paint could only cover so much; Ori looked so sad and small on her bed, dwarfed by the mess of her belongings. But truth was never flattering, even to the beautiful. Ori snorted once, mouth around her pizza still. “You say the sweetest things.” 

“I know. So eat your pizza and sleep. Was nice to see you, though.”

“I called you for a reason.” She wiped her hands on a napkin before she touched her clothes, reached around herself to loosen the corset pinching her waist. The resulting sigh was so loud it startled the cat, even through the metallic reception of my omni-tool. “Been waiting all night for that.”

Ori was a clam shell underwater, slowly opening. Her breasts peeked over the lines of her bodice, not that it mattered to me. Even through the static of holo I could see that her clothes marked her flesh in red lines; I didn’t quite understand why she wore something that bruised her easily, but I knew when to pick my battles. “I doubt you called for the striptease,” I said.

“A happy coincidence.” Ori adjusted herself with a sharp smile. “Do you finish your shift at the usual time tomorrow?”

The blinking numbers of the clock of mocked me. Work was technically today, since I started in four hours. _“Hnngh._ If the general public behaves themselves and no one murders anyone, yes. Why?”

She was smiling again; I narrowed my eyes at her. “Make sure they do, I have something planned. One of those limited offer deals we have to do immediately, I have to make sure we’re there on time.”

I was intrigued, but there was only so much vagueness I could take. “For what?”

“Something good, obviously. That’s the point of a surprise, isn’t it?” The thought made me sigh, to her sudden laughter. “Oh, come on. Trust me.”

I did, but there was still the thought of doing it. If it’s one thing I loathed the most, it was a surprise- even if my working day was filled with them. “Are we staying in Zakera?” I asked, rubbing the centre shield of my forehead.

Ori was still smiling that tight little smile of hers. “Yep, we won’t go far. You don’t even have to dress up, either. I’ll tell you where to go once it’s confirmed, but I'm pretty sure it’s solid. Just keep your evening free.”

I was at the mercy of a working C-Sec schedule, she knew that. Detective hours were notoriously asocial, but we could both hope whatever she had went to plan. “I’ll try,” I said. 

“Perfect.” Ori reached for her discarded pizza again, this time an inelegant bite. “I’m going to take your advice,” she said, looking away to eat. “I’m going to eat my grease now, then sleep after.”

“Good.” I knew I was smiling, despite the nerves at her plan. Was it dinner? A trip? “Sensible. For once.”

Ori paused in her eating to glare, reminding me so much of the damn cat still lodged like a burr on my back. “If I did exactly what you wanted me to do all the time, you’d be bored.”

_ -she turned her head from mine, eyes on the horizon. I couldn’t work her out, not yet. Oriana Lee kept something from me, despite our shared connection- _

Perhaps she had a point. “Have a good sleep cycle, Ori. Rest well.”

“Same to you. See you later.” The holo switched off, her smile fading from view. In the darkness I was left with the vague sense of expectation, nerves pinching my stomach at whatever was meant for tomorrow. 

It was not the eleven hour shift at work, that was my normal. I knew what the squeeze was, I felt it before. I had it when I was stuck in the skycar after Shepard’s party, the feeling of falling over the edge again and again. I was at the top of Zakera Point, looking down at the Wards. I was staring at the endless sea back on Kahje. I was-

_ -do or die, move or lose. The gun was in my hand, the broken bottles my target. If I stayed in Kahje, if I stayed here, what was for me? Nothing, no one. Just the strange Krios boy, that’s all I was to them- _

It took years to build my layers of defence, but Ori somehow knew me. I was a person to speak to, to call up and call _ darling, _just because. It was an equilibrium of noise in my head, of old, bad memories on loop clashing with the reality that for once something going right in my life. It was allowed, if I let it.

I survived, I was alive. Work was motivating, my home was my own. It was hard to make friends of course, but I knew that was on me and C-Sec. 

But I had Ori now. No one wanted to be alone, not really. Even when the chance to not be is given, there are those that don’t know how to react, intruding memories a reminder of what happens when you try to give a damn. So the self-sabotage begins, the armour slides back on. A crippling sense of knowing and being known, that’s what it was. Of someone who sees right through your shit enough to go: _ I see you_. _ Nice try. _

She could do better than me, but I didn’t want her to. The thought of wondering when she would walk away was constant, when I would inevitably fuck it all up, and I would. 

_ -you’re not listening to me,’ Ori said, turning from the window. ‘I mean, you can hear the words, probably remember them perfectly too, but for some reason it’s not sinking into that thick- _

_ "Enough_.” I said the word out loud, rolling over to face a displeased Fish startled from the noise. A head rub soothed her, but one yellow eye remained open. “It’s fine,” I told her, watching as she settled back down.

Because it was.


	3. The Missed Lunch

My mood improved when I woke up, even after three hours of sleep. After a quiet morning shift, it appeared the Wards had behaved themselves just as I promised Ori, but not for long. 

The feeling of your boss standing over your desk was never a good one, even if she appeared to be in a good mood. Hoorik squinted at me over her foul smelling coffee, silent as the Deep; she had something to work out, and I was it. 

“Ma’am?” I refused to give into my urge to fidget.

Hoorik took a loud sip, eyes still pinched. Her features were smaller than Ori’s, a thinner mouth and darker eyes. It’s odd, I noticed a human’s face differently now, but I suppose a familiarity would do that. “Have you eaten yet?” She asked.

For one blessed moment, I assumed I was getting a free lunch. “Not yet. Why?”

“Keep it that way, if you don’t mind. Join Patel in my office, please.”

Patel shrugged at me before I sat down opposite Hoorik’s chaotic desk, as curious as I was why we were both pulled to one side. Hoorik looked at us over before she sat down, a bowl of what looked like wood scrapings in watery milk next to her terminal. “CSI has requested someone from homicide to observe an autopsy,” she said, grimly poking at her food with a spoon. “I’m sending you both. Apparently it’s… something. I’ve emailed you all we know so far, check your terminals before you leave.”

The pause before _ something _ made me shift in my chair. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Do what you can. I’m putting you both on this, as of now.” We both heard the order, even behind the smile. 

I assumed I would be filing incident reports all day into our ailing databank system, not be given more to do. “You can drive us to the morgue,” Patel said as we left, his eyes on his omni-tool. “My knee is playing up again.” 

“How do you need knees to drive? How did you even pass the C-Sec fitness test if you’re too weak to drive a Gods damn cruiser?” 

Patel’s watery smile answered nothing. “I’m fit where it counts. Off we go, Krios.”

The trick to surviving autopsies was to deal with it through email, but on occasional we were called in by forensics for something. 

We remained in our seats until the last moment, for obvious reasons, staring at the metallic doors of the parking bay. “We’re early,” I said.

“Must be something if we were called in to watch. Don’t get many of those.”

I pulled up our file interface, the skycar’s window now a remembrance board to the dead. “The victim has been identified as Phoy Calisi. Asari-bodied, in their Mother years. Their cleaner found them this morning.” A quick glance at the incident report was enough to see why we were sent here. “According to Constable Waydek it’s like something pulled from the vats, he was first on the scene.”

Waydek meant the keeper vats, the long defunct tubs of slime were used to hide bodies and murder weapons for centuries. C-Sec used to have a specialist team that dealt with the victims pulled out of them, but of course the war changed a few things. 

Namely that we couldn’t afford to keep a cold crimes unit open any more. Most of the keeper tunnels were open now, centuries of secrets revealed in the dark. C-Sec could only handle so much; with the keepers dead since the Citadel’s explosion, their vats were broken down and sterilised. Not that it meant much for the half-decomposed bodies we pulled out of them, victims with no name.

“There’s a good canteen here,” said Patel, chewing a nail. “Better than the slop at our precinct, or so Phalia says. Everything is new here, lucky buggers.” 

“I’ll pass.” 

“Never say never. We’ll see how it goes.” The memory of food had a way of creeping up at the morgue, even for an older officer like Patel. Neither of us wanted to puke our breakfast in front of the coroner. 

The pair of us exhaled heavily before we left the skycar, casually greeted by the tan-skinned salarian in charge of the entire forensic building by the door. “You’ve missed most of it, Dr. Sedese is cleaning up now,” he said. “She’s in charge of the autopsy.”

It was hard to be nervous around Siks, even if he was blunt; he was a gentle soul despite his work in CSI, and was the squad’s favourite pathologist to work with. “I would say that’s a shame, but I don’t think you’d believe me,” Patel said. “Good to see you, sir.”

A crime scene investigator as high up as Lerran Siks did not oversee a colleague’s work, nor did he personally greet C-Sec detectives in the lobby. Something about this case warranted his presence, and Patel and I risked a glance before we passed through the decontamination scans.

As soon as I was declared clear, Siks spoke to outside the decon-unit, discreetly soft enough just for my ears. “Interesting that Hoorik sent you, Krios. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe.” 

I stood up straight at that. “Sir?”

He looked at me then, a quiet sense of pity. “Drell are more susceptible to fungal infections, not that you’re at risk. Everything you will see will be behind the observation glass of our lab. No one is expecting you or your partner to touch the body, much less breath near it. Procedure is in order, you’re quite safe.” 

“He leaves the breathing to experts,” Patel said behind him, as soon as he was declared clean. “Smart lad. Lead on, sir.”

Unlike our crumbling, shabby precinct, the CSI buildings were new, attached to a working hospital hastily installed even before the Citadel moved itself back to the Widow’s orbit. The place had yet to get the smell that lingered in old surgeries and clinics, but even through the viewing gallery the stench of antiseptic was strong. The pathology lab was tiled like a Lasharian temple, an open space with easy-to-mop floors and checkered red patterns on the wall. Around the steel tables, glass-fronted cupboards and metal workbenches lined the corners, everything was still so shiny it gleamed.

The reason we were here was a stark contrast to the new labs. On one of the tables lay our victim, and even a glancing look soon explained why the paramedics had declared their body a possible biohazard. 

Phoy Calisi had been a tall, well-built asari, with the onset of middle age softening their torso and thighs. It was possibly the only thing to identify about them, considering their entire body was covered in what looked like the grey fur of an animal.

_ -Fish, thrice fuck it,’ I said, petting her rumbling striped stomach. ‘I need my jacket back. Please move, I got to- _

The doors opposite the glass opened to a silent slide, a figure in a biohazard suit waving at us on sight, though the blackened glass of her helmet was opaque for us to see anything.

Dr. Lysay Sedese was hard to work out, other than five fingered and bipedal. “Unique, isn’t it?” They said, a muffled feminine voice said through the speakers. “The time of death is only five hours ago, can you believe it? My assistant is processing the lungs now, I’ve only just closed.”

Siks nodded, a hand to chin. “That’s the fascinating mystery of why we’re all here.” 

Judging by the way Patel and me stepped away from the glass, only the experts thought this was _ fascinating_. “Sorry. I’m Dr. Sedese, the pathologist in charge of the autopsy. I’ve been sent from Teyseri CSI, keeper vat victims are my speciality.”

Lerran Siks cleared his throat, his hands behind his back. “Dr Sedese is kind enough to come in and help us, she knows vat mould better than most.”

“And to see your fancy new labs,” Sedese replied. “Nothing like this in Teyseri, I’m quite jealous.”

It was the second time the vats were mentioned. “Phoy Calisi was found in their apartment, kilometres away from the keeper tunnels. What happened?” I asked, frowning at the grey fuzz. I knew it would be a mould, but was curious about the specifics.

“Reminds me of bread,” said Patel. “Left out too long and going bad. You said it was fungal, sir?”

Siks nodded. “I did. We know it’s a specific fungal infection from the family of_ servisini,_ often found in protein vat liquids left out too long. which is why we have Dr. Sedese in there instead of me.”

“The infection covers most of our victim’s body, but is particularly concentrated at their groin, armpits and crest,” Sedese said, the speakers of the observation room clicking in static. “All the warm spots of an asari body.”

_ -infection likes heat,’ the doctor said, his eyes on his omni-tool. Mami shifted me to her shoulder, a gentle hand on my head. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I’m here for antibiotics, I’m not- _

“Odd,” I said, letting the memory slide. “The build-up usually happens after three days. On the dead, at least.”

“That’s the issue.” The black depths of her biohazard mask swivelled to look at me; I could just about make out the faint ultraviolet of her eyes, since Dr. Sedese was asari. “I would say you need longer, for a spread like this,” she said. “The speed of growth is not normal, which is why we called you here to see for yourself. We also found traces of the same fungus under their fingernails mixed in with their own skin cells from their legs, matches the scratch marks I found there.”

Which meant Calisi felt this growth before they died. “Our victim was alive when they contracted this mould?” Patel asked. I noticed he had trouble looking through the observation window, but I can’t say I could blame him.

Sedese put down a scalpel to lift a pair of tweezers, not quite answering the question. “I am by no means a mycologist, but I get to know most of the vat species that grow in them. The growth I mentioned only happens when mould is breeding on necrotic flesh. Not living, like this.”

“Breeding?” I asked. “A rot, you mean?”

_ -don’t go poking into the vats, call in the experts,’ the lecturer said to a sleepy auditorium. ‘Even if a superior officer orders you on a dare. You’re mostly safe with protection, but if your immune system is compromised it’s a risk.’ I knew that much already myself, I didn’t need a- _

A small patch of the fur was yanked away with tweezers. Tufts of grey spores rose above the body as the tools worked, the mould sticking to the metal. “A detective that paid attention in their CSI classes, Goddess. But yes, this should be a pathogen that only affects the dead. I should be safe without my biohazard suit on, in theory. And yet here we are with me breathing through a suit, and you behind the glass.”

_ And yet _. We had reached the point of two homicide detectives being sent here to be told something. “Will this spread?” I asked. The thought alone of the spores reaching the swollen slums of the Lower Wards was frightening, but no one in the lab of seemed to blink at the thought.

“Not unless we inject the mould into our bloodstream,” Dr. Sedese answered. “The suit is a precaution, everyone exposed to the body has so far normal shown no adverse reaction. This was a very precise localised infection.”

I didn’t realise how long I had held my breath, exhaling in relief at her reply. “What was the cause of death?” Patel asked, making notes on his omni-tool.

“Phoy Calisi asphyxiated due to an obstruction in their lungs. A fungal growth,” she said. “Like Kepral’s, to be crass. I know one of you is familiar with the process.”

Everyone looked at me. Infection and rot had cut off Calisi’s air supply, something I heard a thousand times. Something I had-

_ -the wracking coughs had stopped thanks to the drugs, but his breath still rattled. ‘We have to wait for Shepard,’ he said, pulling the mask off with weak hands. ‘Where is- _

“But it’s not Kepral’s,” I said, pinching the memory away. “Because this is from the keeper vats. Or so you said.”

My reply was loud even to bounce of the newly tiled walls. Siks cleared his throat, a gentle hand on my elbow. “Dr. Sedese is perhaps off the mark. The infection is a little different to Kepral’s, of course.”

Dr. Sedese was a doctor of the morgue for a reason. The soulless black of her envirosuit refusing to look my way, oblivious to the mood. “Our victim died choking on something that only grows on the dead,” she said, getting to the point. “It’s only our job to tell you the how, you have to find out the why.”

CSI were fond of saying that to detectives, but I thought it was her job, too- especially since neither of them knew how the mould could kill in the first place. “I think we can leave Dr. Sedese to the rest,” said Siks. “My team is still at the apartment checking the breathing units, but so far nothing suspicious. Once Dr. Sedese clears off all the grey, we might find a point of entry. Needle marks are often missed on the first opening.”

“Are you sure this infection was forced intravenously?” Patel asked, finally looking up from his omni-tool. “You said it needed to be put into the bloodstream to work.”

“No one said force,” he replied. “But we’ve yet to find an entry. You’re welcome to stay and see if we can find the mark,” he said, nodding through the glass. “But I assume you’ve seen enough.”

We had. After two separate runs through the decon-chamber just to make sure we felt clean, a copy of the victim’s omni-tool data was handed to me on a datapad. Somehow Patel and I managed to make it back to the cruiser unscathed, staring out another glass window before we could move.

I had yet to start the engine. The pair of us caught our breath before I even closed the door. Patel shook himself awake, finally pulling the safety barrier over his head. “Well. That was hairy,” he said.

“It was mould, not hair.” Patel rested his hands on his stomach, poking out as it did even through the thick layer of his stab vest. “You seen the vat bodies before?” I asked.

Patel only shrugged. “You’ve been in C-Sec longer,” he replied. “Age before beauty, and all that. Would’ve loved to have seen a keeper up close.” 

“You got used to them being around. Their tunnels were my beat as a constable,” I said, looking out the window. Maybe I had seen the protein vats more than most. “I could work around them. You had to, or they exploded.”

At the drop of information, Patel learned in. “Sounds like you got some stories.” 

_ -the legs of the keeper brushed mine in the dark, and I pushed myself against the wall to let it pass, intent on- _

“Only some, I just knew the routes. You have stories too, I'm sure. We all do.” 

“My colony had nothing as interesting as keeper tunnels, just the occasional pirate ship. I would’ve loved to see the Wards as they were, not as they are now.”

“They were the same back then. Just with fewer holes and different buildings,” I said.

Humans really believed the dream of the Citadel, that coming here would solve everything. Patel was one of the new hires from the thousands of refugees left homeless from the war, and like many made the Wards his home. Rather than drag his family back to police his empty colony, Arjun Patel made it as a detective.

We all had our reasons for being here, I suppose. I knew beneath the patina of lazy sarcasm, Patel held a child’s fascination with the Wards. Like it was all just something out of the vids, as if somehow there was a golden age of the Citadel I managed to live through before the war happened.

_ -Mouse gripped the edge of my uniform. He needed a wash, the stench of the tunnel clinging to his clothes. ‘Krios, please, you have to help me,’ he said. ‘They think I’m a snitch, Kolyat, please- _

My silence was too long for Patel. “As I tell the wife, better out than in,” he said, oddly unreadable. “You can tell me, if you like.”

It was my turn to shrug, finally placing my fingers on the interface to get us back to the precinct. “My stories aren’t as interesting as T’Lori’s. I’ve only been a detective for a year.”

“Most of his are lies, and you know it.” Patel looked at me, humming something under his breath. “It can’t be worse than what we saw in there.” 

For a man who lived through the war, he had a short memory. Not every human did, Ori taught me that. “Not now Patel,” I said. I had my fill of mould and bodies.

The rest of the day went by in paperwork and dead-ends. I had interviewed the victim’s neighbours to a polite nothing, and was about to start on Calisi’s omni-tool data when my own pinged a message.

_ >45th level. On the corner opposite Seala Tower. 1830hr, don’t be late. _

It would’ve been ominous, if I didn’t know it was from Ori. She had listed a place not far from my own apartment for her ‘surprise,’ to my relief. _>Hello to you too,_ I replied.

_ >ye. still on for t2nigjht? _

Gods, she typed like a drunk pyjack hopped up on spacer fuel sometimes. _ >In theory. What are we actually doing? _

“The fuck are you smiling at?” I looked up at the confused face of Bats T’Lori. He had spent the day in a mire of paperwork, despite his hangover. That Patel and I had been given a new case didn’t bother him, considering the circumstances of the mould.

My wrist vibrated again. If I moved away to hide Ori’s message, Bats would notice, prying bastard that he was. _ >wait and see :) that’s the point of a surprise. _

I looked at him once I read it. “Just good news from my accountant,” I said, typing back my reply.

“‘Course it is. Fuckin’ weirdo. Who has an accountant?”

_ >I’ll be there. Will let you know if I’m running late. _

The data I pulled from the victim’s omni-tool showed Phoy Calisi was in a bar two hours before she died, a casual meeting with friends. Three of them, to be precise- all asari, all Mother-age.

Their group chat shared a familial tone, full of old jokes and references that made sense to them, but the last one sent to Calisi showed signs of a sad possible something. _ >sorry you left early, Fifi. Hope you get better soon and it’s not food poisoning!!! _

I stood up and pulled my jacket on, to Patel’s frown. “You found something?” 

“Golden Sunset cafe, 47th level. Our victim was there before she died with her friends, thought we could pay them a visit to see what their cameras have.”

The cafe was the kind of bland quiet the rich preferred for their alcoholism. We were lucky enough to interview the same barman working the night before, a bored turian who only shrugged at our badges. He gave the vid data away without a problem, at least. “Those ladies tipped well,” he said. “Matriarchs always do. Three bottles of _ elesa _ between the three of them, not exactly there for the food. That’s all I remember.”

“Only three?” I asked.

He frowned, browplates creased. “Yeah, three bottles, three glasses, three asari. Easy to remember.” I showed him the picture of Phoy Calisi, an old tram ID photo from last year. “Hmm, nah. Not her. Would’ve recognised the tattoos, always do with asari.”

We were left with a vague sense of nothing, but at least it was a start. “This is a CSI case,” Patel said, once we were alone in the cruiser again. “We don’t even know if it’s murder yet, could be suicide. Could be a strange accident. That mould is the answer, and we can’t exactly interview it, can we?”

“But we can still establish a timeline for our victim. That’s what we’re meant to do.”

Patel saluted me lazily, even though we were the same rank. “Yes sir.” There was plenty of work to do; map out the victim’s walk home, find out what she did, who she spoke to. There was still the cafe’s vid-feed to watch, but it was now officially the end of our working day. 

That’s what you did when you worked homicide, even for the strange cases. You took off your uniform and put on your civvies, and you went home. 

Even if home was just your cat and an empty apartment. But sometimes it was-

“Thrice fuck it,” I said, noticing the time. Even if we left now, I would be late meeting Ori. _ >sorry _ , I sent her. _ >Ieaving soon. _

“Problem?” Patel asked.

He was my only chance at meeting my girlfriend on time. “Could you log the witness statement and vid-feed for me?” I said, once we were outside the precinct. “I need to be somewhere now.”

Patel shoved his little finger in his ear and wiggled it, for some ungodly reason. “You mean I do all the work while you run off early? Isn’t it your day off tomorrow, too? How convenient.”

“But I have a meeting with my accountant.” I looked him in the eye and blinked slowly, I knew my black sclera and double lids unnerved humans. 

Patel refused to budge, still interested in cleaning his weird human ear with a fingernail. “You’ll be late, then.”

He meant that. “I’ll watch the vid-feed tomorrow and write the report,” I replied, sighing. “Just email me a copy of the statements once they’re logged.”

“You’ll do all that work, even on your day off? What a good boy you are.” Patel smiled, a sudden mood change. “I heard you talk to Bats about your _ accountant _earlier.” There was a twinkle in his eye that said he didn’t believe a word of what I just said, but who knew with Patel- it could just be dirt. “Who am I to step in the way of such fiscal responsibility? Especially with the tax season looming.”

One day I would tell the squad about Ori. Perhaps over something informal, a casual invite to _ The Thin Blue Line_. We would have one drink, and then leave; that would be enough for her to charm even DI Hoorik, not that it would take much.

Patel was still smiling, the stubble of his upper lip glistening in the lights of the cruiser. I was glad Ori’s hair was at the minimum for humans, but even in the brighter light in could see the tiny hairs on her arms, her face, her back, something I would never point out again as-

_ -she flinched at my words, tugging the offending arm away from my hold. ‘You’re with a human,’ she said. ‘We have hair in many places.’ Despite her ice-cold eyes, I was pushed on my back again, naked thighs spread around my stomach as- _

Perhaps I wasn’t ready to share her. Not yet, not with them. 

“See you in two days,” I said, tapping Patel once on the shoulder. “There’s somewhere I should be.”


	4. Ori's Surprise

Despite Patel’s bribery, I was late. I had to run to make it in time for Ori, but at least the chafe of my uniform’s stabvest was off my chest. 

I was now only Kolyat Krios, clothed in the loose workout gear I always wore after work. My uniform came with an authority that could part crowds, but only if I had it on; no one cared about a harassed drell running past them in civvies, not on Zakera. 

I knew every shortcut from the precinct to get to where I needed to go, but even C-Sec couldn’t escape the Citadel’s elevator system. The carriage was slow as it ascended, my eyes clamped on the ceiling to cope both with the crawl and the smell of people crammed in one space.

Pedestrian crossings were worse than the highways for hold ups, I swear to all the Gods. As soon as was free of the sliding doors I sprinted my way towards the meeting point, dodging through an endless stream of ambling commuters caught up in their own private universe. I could see the building I had to reach even after a few minutes of hard running, switching to a slow jog so I wouldn’t collapse when I got there. 

Standing on the corner where the streets bisected themselves into lanes, I saw her. Ori was in her usual purples, blue eyes fixed on the horizon ahead. She wore a short flouncy skirt with boots over her knee, a jacket zipped up tight; the Wards were still cold, thanks to the eezo shortage.

It took her awhile to notice me, even though she was paying attention to the crowds. “What time do you call this, then?” she said, tilting her head to one side when I reached her.

I was ten minutes tardy, despite her smiles; the excuse tripped off my tongue before I could stop it. “There was this interview that took longer than I thought. I didn’t-” 

“I’m only teasing.” Ori tugged the lapels of my jacket to silence me, a furtive kiss to my cheek. It was as affectionate as we got in public, save for the occasional hand hold. “I‘ve not been waiting long, it’s fine.” 

She stood just off from the side of the building were she wanted to meet, but I had a vague idea why she chose this place the moment she sent the coordinates. The _ Thessia, Reborn _benefit was held here, the remains of a purple carpet and golden barriers rolled up to one side.

The news still talked about who wore what and why, even my colleagues had an opinion on the clothes. Ori’s private invite to the gala was a bigger deal than I thought; the Keprals fundraisers barely made a dent in the local news, but vids and articles of _ Thessia, Reborn _ had spread themselves across the galaxy.

I suppose a Council race would make waves. Apparently the theme of the night was even water; Ori’s blood-purple and pearl outfit now made sense, all things considered. I still wondered how much it cost, but some things are better left unsaid.

“The gala?” I asked. 

“Happened yesterday.” I thought the place was an odd location for a party for the rich, even if the building reeked of money. The floors were a mix of commercial offices and private clinics, but the top three were turned into a restaurant. 

The place also came with a menu my C-Sec wage would never cover. “Why are we here?”

“Wait and see.” An old yellow ration bag over stuffed with something dangled from her hands, and before I could peek she pulled it behind her back. “It’s not for the restaurant, don’t worry.” Ori made a point at looking at my battered running shoes. I could hear her unsaid, even if she never spoke it: _ not dressed like that anyway_.

I narrowed my eyes at her smile. “Does this have anything to do with your night out?”

“What did I tell you about assumptions? It does, but not in the way you think.” 

She gave nothing away, even when I was led down an alley that reeked of garbage, a dead end I’d seen across the Ward a thousand times over. I knew we were walking towards a service entrance, but the overflowing trash spilled onto the walkway and disguised the door.

“What a treat,” I said, breathing through my mouth. 

“I’m glad you like it. Everyone throws out so much waste at these benefits, I'm sure there’s something for you to snack on while we wait. The _ elufa _ rolls were nice.” 

“Hilarious. What now?” I neglected to tell her I climbed in more than enough trash disposal units for work, this was hardly novel.

Ori clicked something on her omni-tool by the alley’s only door, apparently oblivious to the smell. “We wait for Urin,” she said, amused by my frowning. "He’s the one with the access codes. Urun promised we could have the place to ourselves until his shift ends.”

I don’t think she meant the entire run of the building, but I had reached my fill of her _ wait-and-see_. “Right, of course. A whole place.”

She kissed me on the cheek once, hidden away in the dark of the alley. “Won’t be long now.”

_“Ori- ”_

Before I could argue further, the door opened. ”Miss Lee?” A green pair of horns popped his head though, followed by a curious blinking. “Great to see you again.”

“And to you. No need for titles though, I insist you call me Ori.”

Her contact was a young salarian in a tidy waiter’s uniform, the discreet kind expensive restaurants always used. He blinked in surprise at me at first, smiling when he worked something out. “And you must be the friend with the apartment.”

The statement was baffling. “Yes?”

Ori still refused to explain anything.“Kolyat, this is Urin.” She threaded an arm around mine, smiling at us both. “Kolyat doesn’t know where we’re going. It’s a surprise, remember?”

“A good one, too.” Urin’s horns wiggled in enthusiasm at whatever they had planned for me, an infectious glee Ori soon returned with a laugh of her own. 

“I hope so, Kol is hard to please.”

“I am not.” My reply was sharp and loud, but I had reached my limit of being kept in the dark. 

Ori pinched my ass out of view, a silent request for my complicity. A smile was fixed on her face, but I knew what the side eye meant.

_ Don’t you dare, Kolyat Krios. _

“Well then. Lead on, Urin,” she said, looping her arm through mine.

We didn’t stay joined for long. Ori drifted off to walk ahead of the narrow corridor, just behind her new friend. I dutifully followed with my hands to myself, though my quiet was an acceptable companion to them both. 

She filled in the silence without much effort. “Have you recovered from last night?” Ori said, stepping over a spilled container of sauce packets. The place was a mess of boxes and crates, a hidden chaos from the public’s eye. 

I held out my hand to help her barrier of crated linens, a delicate hop made in her heeled boots. “Not yet, as you can see,” Urin said, pushing aside the mess with an apology.. “This morning we had to rip apart a bathroom to find a bracelet. I’m not sure who leaves a million credit heirloom behind a toilet, but that’s the rich for you.”

Her face tightened, despite the polite smile. I knew Ori seethed at the carelessness of the privileged, even if she looked like she belonged in the set. I never would, the C-Sec uniform saw to that; I dealt with a fraction of the bastards for work, the ones that thought money could keep them out of the justice system.

_ -call my uncle,’ he said, rapid salarian eyes blinking in disdain at the omni-cuffs. ‘He knows how to deal with this.’ Hoorik leaned forward in a smile. ‘Your uncle isn’t here facing a violent assault charge, but you- _

Sometimes it worked. 

The pair of them somehow never stopped talking, but I knew it was thanks to her. Ori had an enviable ease with conversation, and I watched as she fed him casual topics from the Ward’s enviro-filters to last night’s outfits. Even the highway traffic got a mention, but eventually the small talk petered out by an elevator. 

Urin sighed in disappointment at the sight. “This should take you to the top with the codes I’ve given you, but I have to get back to work now. If you wouldn’t mind leaving in three hours, I’d be thankful. I'll get in trouble, otherwise.”

“That’s more than what we need, thank you. And keep in touch, I can still forward your details to the catering company I mentioned last night. They’re good people.”

Urin blinked rapidly in surprise. “You’ll do that for me? I’ve had time to think, have all day. This place doesn’t deserve loyalty, I get no benefits.”

“Then leave.” Ori placed a hand on Urin’s forearm, as if they were dear friends. It was an intimate gesture to most species, despite the recent acquaintances. “What you did yesterday goes above and beyond your job.”

“Thank you,” he said, breathless with relief. “I could have been fired, if you weren’t around to defend me. I was told not to talk to the guests. But-”

“You saved her life, remember that. No one else was making the call.”

The hyperbole of the statement made me raise a brow, but I knew enough to stay silent. “You know, I always wanted to train as a nurse,” Urin said, after a quiet pause. 

So much for the rush of his work. Apparently it was confession hour, and this time Ori leaned forward to hear it. “There is plenty of time to learn. You’re only fifteen, that’s nothing.”

Her hand was still on his arm. Urin stared at it, then smiled at her. “I never thought I could. But- yes, you’re right. Thank you, Miss Lee. I mean- Ori. I think I will try.”

I had been with her long enough now to know that befriending strangers was a normality, but this was something else. As soon as the door to the elevator closed on us, I dropped the silent act. “What the _ hell _ happened last night?”

Ori gave me that look, the one that said I was the cop asking questions- not her boyfriend. Sorry, I meant ‘friend with the apartment.’ 

“A guest had too much fun at the gala and passed out,” she said, adjusting the strap of her bag to keep herself busy. “Her handlers tried to cover it up, but Urin was insistent on medical attention, especially considering no one could wake her up. I backed him up loudly and helped with the first aid, and all of us waited until first response showed up.” 

The reason for her late night tiredness made sense now, but I knew I only heard a heavily edited version. “That never made the news.”

“They never do with the right PR. It was _ bad,_ Kol. Urin found her choking on her own vomit.” So far she refused to mention who they saved. Some rich actress Bats probably lusted over, not that I cared. 

The elevator jerked in the middle, and I leaned against the wall, trying to work her out. “Is that why we’re here?”

Ori only shrugged, but I could tell she was masking her feelings. She wanted me to like her surprise, and so far all I had done was scowl at it. “It led to it, in a funny way. As soon as I saw the place last night, I knew I had to take you here.” 

We had reached the final floor, but I had enough of the not knowing. “Tell me what we’re doing. Before we even leave this elevator.”

Ori hoisted the ration bag over her shoulder before taking my hand. “Trust me.“

“Ori-”

“Trust me, it’s nothing bad. We’re almost there, anyway.”

I stared at her ceiling before taking it. “Fine.” 

There was no choice but to follow her lead. I could hear the sounds of people and plates close by -the restaurant, I assumed- but instead had stopped in front of a locked door. The access panel was marked with an _ Authorised Personnel Only _ warning that Ori cleared with two clicks. 

“Close your eyes for me,” she asked, tugging at my hand again. “I’ll guide you out. Please, it’ll make this better.”

Her small teeth worried a purple-painted lip. I had an idea what she had planned now, considering where the door led us. “I trust you,” I replied, to her delight. “Don’t walk me into anything.”

So I closed my eyes. The lock hissed open as I did, and soon the buzz of skycars drowned out the gentle clinking of cutlery and chatter from the nearby restaurant. If I sneaked a peek, I know we were outside the building again, this time at the very top.

“And there we are,” she said, letting my hand go. “You can open them now.”

We stood on an empty rooftop, exposed pipes and cooling units of the building behind me. The oranges and purples of Zakera lit up in front of us as pretty as any painting, despite the mess of the roof. The barrier of an anti-grav shield shimmered in slow waves, a casual reminder we were still on a space station.

My chest burst with the view, even if the horizon was fractured by the rigging and scaffolding of building sites. A constant wave of automated arms dipped to work on something, a blur of light and noise. 

It was still my home. “You planned this for me?” I asked.

Ori nodded once, cheeks flushed at my reaction. Every part of her face seemed to smile, and I couldn’t help but return a smaller version of my own. “I came here yesterday to catch a breath, Urin showed me,” she said. “He kept the job as long as he had because of this view, only the workers have access.” 

Our solitude wouldn't last long, knowing my luck. I sighed at the thought, but counted my blessings before it did. “It’s one hell of a view.”

She nudged my with her shoulder, and I looked at her. “Have you seen it yet?” I knew exactly where we were in Zakera, and what compelled her to bring me to this place. “Look to your right.”

I feigned surprise, just for her. “My apartment,” I said, finding my plain little complex a couple of klicks in front of us, familiar and alien at once. “That’s my window.” 

She couldn’t look me in the eye now, despite her earlier confidence. “Is it weird you can see it? I was hoping for a romantic gesture, not… creepy.”

“No, I’m glad we’re here.” 

I reached for her hand to stop her from fidgeting. Ori smiled, a sigh on her lips. “I didn’t want to ruin good memories.”

“You haven’t. I’m still fond of rooftops.”

She squeezed her fingers in reply. Standing here was a gentle reminder of our first meeting, on a similar building six months ago. We did something neither of us would ever do that night to a complete stranger: we told the truth. 

Part of it was her magic of course, but at the time I didn’t realise I was looking for someone to listen.

_ -Shepard hit you?’ Ori said, her blue eyes wide. Human sclera was odd up close, too much white. ‘That’s quite a helping hand- _

Both of us kept secrets for a reason. I had the correct suspicion she was as curious about me as I was about her that night, and I had to tell Ori my past before she fell into it. I didn’t want her reading a broker file about my mother’s murder, or the infamy of my father’s wetwork; I especially did not want her finding out about my attempt at playing hitman, a moment that defined my life whether I liked it to or not. 

So I made a choice. I would set the story straight myself and control my own damn narrative from the start, and tell her my past. Her impression of me would not come from her sister, or Shepard, or whatever gossip she found- it would come from my words alone.

It was odd, but we barely talked about it now. It’s not as if anyone’s personal trauma was a normal conversation to have over dinner, but somehow the act of one confession was enough by itself. The relief still surprised me, the burden of silence was heavier than I thought. 

We were still new, _this_ was still new. I did not flinch when Ori picked up things from my apartment and asked about them, or mentioned my father in passing. She took what I told her and kept them safe, but it was a reciprocal gesture of collusion. 

_ -I’m made of bits and pieces scraped from my sister, apparently. But I’m really not like Miranda, not really.’ Her voice thinned as she told me. ‘I’m not him, either _\- 

No one would know her past. She was a Lee out of choice, never a Lawson. Even if we parted ways tomorrow, I’d still keep her secret. 

Ori moved out of my view on a turn of her heel, and the motion pulled me from my thoughts. The contents of her yellow bag were finally revealed, neatly propped against a ventilation unit. She had brought a thermos of something and a blanket to sit on, a touch that made me smile.

“Let’s get comfy,” she said, tapping the side to her. “We have all night.”

“Only three hours, according to your new friend.” I got the hint and joined her on the blanket, and Ori leaned onto my legs as soon as I did. 

A kiss was placed on my chin, and I peered down to look at her. Ori had ideas, I could tell. “That’s enough time for something,” she said. “I wonder what we could do.” 

We were surrounded by buildings, an open space on the Citadel. Tempting, but _ no_. “We could enjoy the view and wave at the cameras,” I said. “I can point out the official C-Sec ones, if you wish.”

Ori put her head on my shoulder, a sigh tickling my frill. “You’re no fun.” 

“You’re the one that brought me here.”

I leaned back on my elbows, my turn to exhale. This was still my neighbourhood, a comforting view even from another angle. “What are you looking at?” she asked.

“An empty space. You wouldn’t be able to see my apartment from here five years ago,” I said, gesturing to the gap in the horizon. “A mall was there. They had a Kahje food shop, I went sometimes.” 

“Next month will be a different story.”

The change was a daily annoyance in my life, but it was for us all. “They’re going to build community centred stores instead, whatever that means. Flower shops and weird hybrid cafes that will close in a year, I’m sure of it.”

I was content to be a companion to the silence, but then I noticed her frown. Ori’s thoughts were elsewhere, judging by her constant fiddling. Instead I stilled her hands in mine, a silent question to her mood. “I spoke to Miranda this morning,” she said, squeezing back. “Wants me to pass on a hello.”

The mood sense made sense, even if my stomach flipped at the mention. “Oh?”

Her thumb rubbed at the dip of my middle finger, apparently still fascinated by the join. “I thought we could meet her together. Randa told me she never spoke to your dad outside of the mission, but knows you exist, aren’t you lucky? She seemed very keen. I told her you’re in Investigations now, she didn’t know. She knows we’re together, though.”

_ Gods dammit. _The longer we put it off, the bigger it got. “I’m sure we can meet each other,” I said, clearing my throat. “Perhaps a dinner. Hopefully work will comply.”

If there was one absolute certainty in my life, it was that the thought of meeting Miranda Lawson terrified me in ways my job could not. The woman was a pure glacial ice that flinched at nothing- and somehow my girlfriend was related.

I watched a recording of her war crime trial the day after I met Ori, too busy with work to have seen it unfold live. Her sister was a scale’s edge away from a prison sentence; it didn’t matter that 'Randa’ helped the war effort, or used her connections to put away several Cerberus cells.

The Lawson name was tainted by association. Even with Shepard beside her, the Council wanted answers. At least Ori’s involvement was kept out of the courts, some string pulled far beyond our reach. 

“I’ll let her arrange it, she’s anxious about security,” Ori said. “She’s visiting Earth soon, hopefully she’ll go via the Citadel. Might not happen of course, but we can talk about it.”

It was a small, sad statement. I slung one arm over her shoulder, a gentle squeeze of her arm. “We’ll think of something, I have security contacts too. I’ll even be on my best behaviour.”

“That’s good of you, I won’t.”

I kissed her brow and let her go. “I’ve often wondered what was on this roof,” I said, a deliberate change of direction. “And here I am.”

Ori seemed content enough to watch Zakera, her eyes on the horizon again. “It’s just a restaurant. Seems a waste of space, though, it’s only used for by the workers for breaks. But I thought you’d like it.”

_ -the lights of the Wards twinkled in the distance. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. C-Sec barriers were still in place if I pointed them out, the murder site hidden away- _

“This is much better than the one I took you to.”

I meant every word. I neglected to explain I found our first rooftop that night thanks to a crime scene, and remained silent as she poured a steaming cup of tea from an official Kellam Industries thermos.

“It’s hot,” she said, offering me a cup. “Not as romantic as champagne or _ elesa_, but it will do.”

“Just as lovely.” I gulped it down without thinking. “Thrice _ fuck- _”

Ori made a point to blow on her own before drinking, refusing to help. “I did warn you.” 

“Your concern is touching, thank you.” I stuck out my scalded tongue to her laughter, with the vague hope the air would cool it.

Not that there was a breeze on the rooftop, considering the barrier above us. The higher you were, the more abstract the Citadel felt. The pair of us looked up at the closest Ward, just visible through the atmosphere. 

From here the arm of Tayseri was an upside down city in motion. Dust from its buildings hit the barriers of ours, settling on the roofed domes of the vacuum seal. Fragments escaped despite the Ward’s engineering, especially when the enviro-filters were clogged again. 

We still breathed in space matter and eezo fumes no matter where we were, but at least we didn’t suffocate with the stars. “It looks like snow,” she said, watching the dust spiral above us. 

I chuffed in disagreement, amused by the comparison. Only Ori could find floating trash poetic, but she had a funny way of looking at life. “I am aware of the concept. I’ve never touched the stuff, or even seen it.”

“I’d like to see the real thing. The colony we’re working on, the camera feeds show so much white it’s glaring. They’re having trouble with keeping the drifts down, but they can’t afford to rebuild the barriers.”

She had mentioned it before. A mostly human planet on the outskirts of Council space, a former mining colony in need of help. “It’s a nuisance to live in, or so I’m told.”

“I’d still like to see it in person,” she said, quiet now. “My father was born in Russia, he was romantic about the stuff. But cold places always are, aren't they? A thousand and one words just for how the snow falls.”

_ -the origin of the Sekalm language is shaped by the weather,’ the teacher droned on, but who gave a Gods damn fuck what he thought? Imra’s shoulder strap had slipped off, right in front of my desk. I could see her collarbone and her soft scales as she pulled it up, swaying in her seat as- _

I was never an academic soul, despite what people thought of me. “Something like that,” I said, shaking my head at the memory. Imra enraptured me for five years, and looking back I’ve no clue why. 

I looked her up on the extranet once; she was married now. Two kids already, like a good drell should. 

Instead I pulled my alien girlfriend’s hand into mine, and watched as space trash fall over the place I called home. “I wonder what Fish is doing,” I said, finding the window of my apartment again. “Perhaps she can see us.”

“Doubtful, she’s sleeping.” Ori tapped my wrist, right where my omni-tool was. “Prove me wrong.”

I had installed a cheap motion-cam for the cat when I got her, just in case something should happen. I stopped checking during my shorter shifts, mainly because Fish was lazy and omni-tool was expensive. “It’ll be a waste of time.”

The evidence was predictable, but I showed Ori anyway. Fish remained in a tight ball nose to tail on the back of the sofa, denting the cushion with her weight. Her dark ears twitched once, as if she knew we were there and watching her sleep.

Ori’s finger dented the pixels as she trailed it over the image, the safest method to pet my cat. “What a hard life she leads,” she said. “So much to deal with.”

I felt the need to defend the honour of Fish. “I found her in the ruins of her city, she’s allowed her comforts.”

Oriana only smiled. “She is lucky you found each other. But I think she saved you, too.”

I chuffed, a noise for her trite statement. “You sound like a priest, don’t be ridiculous. She’s an interactive houseplant at most.”

Ori nudged my shoulder with hers. “You love her. Admit it. She loves you in her own way, I can tell.” 

“Barely a tolerance.” Like a child I nudged her back, and she gripped my jacket in retaliation. “That cat is the worst roommate I’ve ever had.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re lying to _ sere,_ but it’s not working-” 

Before she could react, I pulled Ori into the confines of my arms. Her hands found my fins and tugged, but I let her get away with it- especially when her fingers scratched my scalp in the way I liked.

It didn’t take much to roll us onto the blanket, a tangle of limbs and her laughter as my fingers found her ribs. The fight had gone once we were down, but neither of us seem inclined to part ways. “I was so nosy when I found out you had Fish,” she said, pressed into my the dent of my shoulder. “Even before you told me what happened. I thought it said a lot about you, that you brought her back home.”

I already knew Ori’s enthusiasm over meeting the cat was genuine, but the reveal of _ why _ was interesting. “I would have got a pet earlier if I had known the effect it had on women.”

_ -cat bites are nasty even to humans,’ I said, holding her bleeding wrist. ‘I did warn you.’ Ori’s hand was still in mine even after I applied the salve, so close now, so very close. ‘I’m an idiot,’ she replied, I felt her forehead brush mine. Her lips were soft and warm when I found them, like I- _

My chin was poked, and I looked down at her. “Meeting you a second time puts a stop to any further intrigue.” 

“What’s your excuse, then?” 

“Who says I need one?” 

“You, apparently.” We were hidden behind a ventilation box surrounded by buildings, safe from prying bystanders and a busy restaurant. What would they see, anyway? Just two blobs on a rooftop holding each other, half covered in shadow.

So I kissed her, stealing whatever reply she had. Ori’s hair always found ways to wrap around my frill, even with the lightest of touch. 

But we couldn’t stay like this forever. Ori pulled herself out of my hold, a gentle tug of my fin to release her. We let the silence blossom around us, until I noticed her staring at me.

“What?” I asked.

She smiled at the skyline before speaking. “We’ve been together six months, you know.”

The reply seemed solemn. “I know. Apparently you made it past a second meeting.”

I had made her smile again, even though it was brief. “Maybe we should've met earlier.” 

“Before the war? We were barely adults.”

I had a suspicion she wanted to talk about something specific, as if the painted nail tracing the ring of her tea cup would summon it. “I was on the Citadel at some point, never Zakera though. Rude of Shepard not to introduce us then, don’t you think?” 

I always found _ what ifs _ a pointless thought exercise to indulge in. I did not think the younger versions of ourselves would stand each other for long; a second meeting would see to that.

_ -I never liked bars. I fingered the crook of my nose at my date, annoyed at her constant questions. ‘You’re only talking to me because I’m just a drell to you. Go fuck yourself and- _

Previous attempts at relationships were just that- an attempt. Shea’re, Taem, Lori, Sae. That nothing ever worked out with the poor women probably said more about me than it did them, even if the last one stole my vid-screen.

I washed down the embarrassment with a gulp of my tea, eyes on the always moving horizon of a working Ward. “I think Shepard was too busy at the time to throw together a party,” I said. “What’s brought this on, anyway?”

She didn’t expect my reply to be a question, and Ori shrugged before speaking. “It was just a thought I had at work today. Maybe if we met earlier, things would be different. We’d have more rooftops to sit on.”

Her eyes were pinched with something, despite her smile. “Long day?”

Ori shrugged again. “I didn’t get much sleep last night thanks to the gala, and today was the day management decided we should be moving floors. Nothing bad happened at work, I’m just dramatic. I actually have some good news for once.”

I made a humming noise of enquiry, but the fiddling had returned. “We’ve got the go ahead to start building on Merax,” she said, smiling at me. “The colony I was telling you about, the one with all the snow. Want to see? I have the mockups of the community centre, we finally have approval.”

Of course I agreed. A flash of her omni-tool and a holo building flickered in front of me, a strange oval design that reminded me of a liquor bottle. It was uniquely odd, but I wouldn’t tell her that.

“It’s based on an old salarian speaking pond, if you can see it. Each section has an equal amount of light and space,” she said, even though she sounded like she was quoting someone else. “I think it’s beautifully done. It’s my job to make sure it’s connected to the rest of the colony- power, water, heating. Not as glamorous as designing a building, I know.”

“It’s… very round,” I said, trying to find the words. “Fitting for a public space.” 

“Loerik Saden designed it, we were lucky to get him.” I had no idea who that was, but Ori seemed pleased. “What about you, how was your day?”

“You’re looking at the good of it,” I said, snorting into my cooling tea. 

It was not as if I could give her a pretty anecdote about my own; an asari Mother covered in furry mould, a strange death with no motive and no clues. Just the thing to tell your girlfriend, obviously. 

“That bad?” she asked.

It was my turn to shrug. “An average day, mostly grey paperwork.” 

A row of lighting switched off in the building opposite from us, office workers leaving for the day. In an hour they would be back on, even though no one was there. It was a pointless security measure and a waste of energy, but I suppose not everyone looked at buildings in the same way I did. 

“A good thing, surely.” She said the words in a yawn, but apologised when I looked.

“We can head home if you want.” 

There was a hint of whine in her reply. “Why? We have plenty of time.” She tucked one stubborn strand back behind her ear before I could do it for her, but I followed through the gesture anyway. “I can outlast you and you know it.” 

“That’s not the-“ A turian frigate passed overhead before I could say anymore, Hierarchy colours on show. I was about to point it out, but Ori stopped me in my tracks. 

She swivelled in her seat to watch it go, the skirt of her dress revealing the length of her legs. “They’re in a hurry,” she said, correcting it with a casual hand. “Primarch related, maybe. I know Victus is around.”

The memory of her thighs remained, a promise of something. “Stay with me tonight,” I said, watching the lines of her throat. Suprasternal notch, it was called; a human dip of skin with no frill to frame it, but I wanted to taste it just the same. “If you want to. I can cook for us both, tea is not a meal.”

Ori pretended to think about it, even though her mouth twitched in a smile. “What’s in it for me?” 

I knew exactly what. In the privacy of closed doors I would happily answer her question, but for now I cleared my drying throat and finished my tea. “Well. You’ve stayed over enough times to know by now, surely.”

It would be food, vids, and fucking- and she knew it too. “I might need a reminder.”

A mess of memories came to me, of moments shared where skin and scales joined, a thought to follow through. It was odd that the physical was the easiest we understood about each other, but I could think of worst places to start. 

“I think I can manage that,” I said. 

It was her turn to snort. “You make it sound like a chore.”

I placed a gloved hand on her knee, a thumb running circles on the joint. So like a drell’s, but not. “We can head back now, it’s not a burden. Home is only over there.”

“You know if another man told me this, I’d laugh. Somehow from you it’s endearing.” I was about to reply but a finger was placed to my lips. “The offer to see the view was only for tonight. We have two hours left, I don’t think we can come back. Especially since I just told Urin he could quit his job.”

I could be a patient man. Diligent, even. “I can wait if you can.”

The comment made her move away with an eye roll, and she made a point of watching the view from the edge of the barrier. “Well, when you put it like that. One last look and then we go,” she said, shivering into her wrapped coat. “I want a photo, come here.”

“You have a camera setting on your own ‘tool. Take your own.”

“Of _ us,_ you idiot.” 

“Gods dammit.” Photographs was my price to pay for enduring fragile alien memory, but this occasion was special. Didn’t mean I had to like it, however. 

I still refused to smile when the camera rotated around us both. The thing was a buzzing drone of annoyance, and I had enough after one flash. Ori insisted on a couple more, but I knew no amount of filters and framing would help; I would look awful in them all. “Are you done?” I asked her.

“Just one more. At least try to look halfway enthused in this one.”

“No.” I risked staring at her as I heard the drone click. Ori was having too much fun at my discomfort, and licked the frill of my cheek before I realised what she was doing. “Thrice fuck it, _ why?”_ I wiped the wetness away to her cackling laughter. “You are a disgusting creature, you know that?”

“I thought you wanted to take me home?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

Ori closed the camera with a flick of her ‘tool, and I looked one last time at my apartment’s window. She was a blur of purple on the edge of my eyeline, and I turned to face her. “I just want to keep the place tidy, like we were never here,” she said, a reply to me eyebrow raise.

I screwed up the thermos up for her, taking apart her statement in one sentence. “Probably some of our DNA somewhere. A loose scale, hair, that sort of thing. Takes longer to degrade than you think.”

Perhaps CSI procedure was not the most romantic of conversations. The blanket was pulled from underneath my feet, and I got the hint and helped her fold it. “Then if we both do a little, a lot is done,” she said, amused when I tugged it back to straighten it.

The smile disappeared then, as if a stray thought wiped it off. I watched it go, curious. “Ori?”

“Ah, nothing. Second time I’ve said it today, Mom said it a lot too. Hated hearing it when I was at home, but apparently it’s sunk to a cellular level. Papa used to say he did more lots than littles.”

_ -they were a loose end, apparently.’ Ori didn’t cry, her face numb with something. ‘Lawson said he didn’t have to deal with them, the Reapers would do it for him. Said I was fed their poison- _

A bomb had been dropped, but was still left intact. “You are allowed to remember,” I said, watching her carefully. “There is nothing wrong in missing them.”

It was the same answer I gave to grieving relatives at work, but the words felt heavier to my girlfriend. “I know that. Every so often I’ll think of something they’d like, and it blindsides me- oh, right. They’re dead, of course I can’t tell them. As if I forgotten, somehow.” 

Ori was not a victim of crime to comfort. Instead I pulled her into my arms, if only to stop her fidgeting. I often wondered if aliens expected me to indulge them in their memories because they knew what mine was like, but for her I paid attention. 

The tiredness had returned, despite the sharp blue of her eyes. “Sorry. You only talk about your past when I ask, I share everything.”

“No you don’t,” I replied, perhaps too quickly.

“I talk all the time.” Her tight little smile meant she wanted me to believe the lie. “Too much, really.”

I knew when to pick my battles. I let her go, and put the folded blanket back into the bag. “Sometimes I even listen.”

“You do. You’re surprisingly attentive, who knew?” 

She was queen of diversions and stalling tactics, but sometimes a chink of something slid through her armour- it was showing now. “Feeling better?” I asked, reaching for her hand.

“I was fine before. It goes both ways, you know,” she said, tugging me towards her. “You can talk, and I can listen. I’m sure your mom had a phrase too, all moms do.”

I had no idea how to reply. There was some trite Compact idiom about the repetition of her mother’s words, that if you love even one grain of sand, somehow it becomes a part of you. I always felt it was utter nonsense, but I understood the intent.

Sometimes I could recall Mami in the warm glow of a devoted child, despite the taint of her murder. She was still the scent of _ se’aus _ and warm leather jackets; I thought of her when I saw women in embroidered dresses, no matter the species.

_ -I heard her hum, the covers pulled over us both. ‘Get some sleep, Kolyat,’ she said, my head tucked under hers. ‘There are no monsters in your bedroom, I’m quite sure of it- _

I thought of her when I read autopsy reports at work. Not as a morbid reminder of her violent death, but that she was a scientist. I understood my mother’s language now; I knew part of the world that fascinated her, even if it was foreign to me as a child.

We had made no move to head to the elevator, even though we had packed up. My quiet was something for her to prod away at, and Ori squeezed my hand to get my attention. “Don’t have to answer it. We can leave now, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I‘m just thinking what to say.” It was hard, but I could share something; a tiny flicker of that warm glow. “My mother used to say: ‘I’m not asking your opinion to the immovable’ a great deal. She said it when she wanted me to do something, just like yours did. I always say it at work now, she’d be amused if she knew.”

Ori was relentless. “What about your dad?”

Despite the subject, this was somehow easier to answer. “He had so many, hard to choose just one. I think of them more these days,” I replied. “I thought I wouldn’t. Father had an odd turn of phrase, as if even the mundane should have poetry to it.” 

There is no diplomacy in love, only mercy. Another old drell saying, one Father even said. He whispered it into my mother’s ear when they thought I wasn’t paying attention, and I grimaced at the thought of my parent’s kissing, just as I did then.

_ -show me mercy, siha,’ Dada said, his arms around Mami. ‘I beg of you- _

I soon understood the true meaning of it when he left. We do not consent to be hurt by those we love, we only endure. It’s a truth that reveals something frightening about the universe, that love itself functions outside of a system we consider fair. There is no court that exists to plead our case, no judge to grant a recompense.

_ -what, so you came to get my forgiveness? So you can die in peace or something?’ My jaw hurt from the punch, a sharp blow to reality against the ghost of my Father. He was here, why was he- _

It is a terrible thing to contemplate as an adult, but unthinkable for a child. All prefer lies, that the reason they left was for something else, that the person you loved is coming back. Every species fumbled with the concept of closure; that old wounds can be healed and fraying scores are settled- if only we had the time to, if only the universe allowed us a space to work it through.

_ -he never said goodbye,’ I heard my aunt hiss. ‘Not to us. Just left his boy at the funeral while her body was taken by the Deep, I don’t- _

And I had time, or so I thought, and let me tell you: closure is only a Gods damn fiction, something for the vids to end on. 

It is not real, at least not in the way anyone wants it to be. I was nineteen and mute with loss, my father’s cooling hand in mine, and I knew it then- what a thrice-fucked lie it was. What I wanted was impossible: we never quite finished those conversations we planned, father and me: never quite lined up his memories with mine to reach a better understanding.

Sometimes I forgave him. Sometimes after a twenty hour shift staring at another victim of the Wards, I don’t. No one would ever get the story straight from me, especially if I could never find the words to begin with.

Life goes on, and I got on with it. Not exactly better than mute grief, but different; we were a universe that felt every breath of our survival, even if we were unable to voice our rage at the cost.

Perhaps Ori had the right idea with her pragmatic deflections and _ I’m fines_, even with the burden of grief on her shoulders.

_Perhaps_. 

“I think it is time to go,” I said, nodding at the door we came from.

“Then take me back to yours,” she replied. Her hand was still a gentle weight in mine after I spoke, a quiet comfort. “One last look, and then we go.”

Home was in sight, after all.


	5. Friction Loss Of A Straight Pipe

Home was a fifteen minute amble from where we were, but we were in no rush to get there. 

Oriana held my hand in the street as she stared ahead, lost in her thoughts as I was in mine. The flow of pedestrians moved around us like darting fish, people with places to be. No one knew who we were, why would they? We were another face on the street to walk past, part of the rush of a working Citadel.

I pulled Ori to the side to make room for an oblivious crowd of volus, all staring down into their omni-tools. You could always spot a tourist no matter the species, but I was of the opinion that you knew when Zakera was home as soon as you cleared customs.

It happened to me, I suppose. I thrived in the mess, the noise, the neon. I grew up in the direct opposite of it back on Kahje: Enkindler’s Basket, home of nothing but open fields and endless flat seas. It was the small kind of farming community all species were familiar with, a backwater dome where no one was a stranger. I was Irikah’s son there, never Kolyat. I was a Krios first, no matter what I did.

Most drell aren’t born with a sense of wanderlust thanks to our scarcity, but Zakera was enough for me. My father assumed my journey was born from his absence, a mess of his to solve. So did my family, but ‘Irikah’s husband’ was easier to blame than themselves.

_ -the platform was cold, even in the shelter. Rain battered my face as the last ship arrived, everything I owned shoved in one bag. The stars still shone above me, my last night on Kahje- _

The truth was, I left because I had to. I never needed much of a push to leave the domes, the arrival of Father’s package was a flimsy excuse.

_ -if you are watching this Kolyat, I have embraced the Sea- should Kalahira grant me forgiveness.’ He clears his throat and the vid message flickers. Father’s eyes twitch, unsure what else to say. The bastard, why- _

Ori let go of my hand to check her omni-too, frowning at a new mail. She came to the Citadel for a reason too -just as big as mine- but I always thought Zakera was work for her. Where even was home for Oriana Lee; the empty box she called an apartment? The flattened ruins of her Bekenstein dorm room? Her fading memories of Illium?

Not quite free of work,” she said, closing the window with a hand wave. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”

“Today isn’t over yet.” It was the first time we spoke after after a while. We had left the rooftop wrapped in a comfortable silence, the sounds of a working Ward just enough to fill it. 

“I know.” Ori waved at her arm, the universal gesture of omni-tool. “I’m still with you, but I have a report to throw together when I get to yours. Shouldn't take long.” 

We’d have the rest of the night to make up for it, I was sure of it. “No problem.”

“It never is.” She was still looking at me, even as we walked through the crowds. I had a vague suspicion she had another plan, and I cleared my throat. “Tomorrow is your day off,” she said.

“Technically.” I was always on call for work, and I still owed Patel a favour.

“Hmm, I have the afternoon off too. Handy.”

She was up to something, but I let her lead me to it. “Do you have a suggestion?”

“What an excellent question, I’m glad you asked.” She paused again, then smiled wider. “I want you to introduce me to your friends.”

_ -Krios, look,’ Bats said, slurring his words. ‘Patel can put the entire bottle in his mouth, why aren’t you- _

“It’s my day off,” I replied, a little too fast. The depths of Hell would dry out before I would introduce Oriana Lee to Bats T’Lori. “I’m at work most days, a break is needed. No offence.” 

I didn’t have friends, I had work. My social life was defined by my shift schedule, the cat, _ her._

The thought startled me. Ori had slipped into my routine and filled a space, as fixed a point as my morning commute to the precinct. “I don’t mean your colleagues, but I’d like to meet them too,” she said. “I mean the boardgame people. That’s what you do for fun, you told me. The meetings in Zakera park.”

Everyone needed a hobby, according to the mandatory therapist C-Sec made us go to. I chose board games on a whim; I wasn’t exactly the most diligent of players, but it was still enough to tick a box and show I had a life outside of work.

I didn’t, not really. “I only go once a month,” I said. 

Her hand was back in mine, and I gently squeezed it. “Unless you have a better idea?” 

I had several. It wasn’t as if the park’s old-timers were bad people, Ori could charm the grouchiest of veterans. I just wanted her to myself, her and me alone in the sanctity of my home. 

It was selfish, I knew it was. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call them friends.” I was unsure how to explain myself; if I put it off, she would only push back, stubborn to the last. “But, we can go. It’s really not a big deal, _ orishen. _”

“We can go and Go.” The words made no sense, and she smiled at my reaction. “I know you like chess, but I’m not too fond- that was Papa’s game, not mine. I was thinking I can teach you how to play Go.”

_ -I remember the feel and sound of the stones, I used to get told off for playing with them.’ Ori smiled at the memory, and I pulled the sheet up to our shoulders. ‘They were centuries old. When I was old enough to learn, they taught me. Mom always won, she was ruthless- _

We often had those conversations in bed. Intimacy made her talk, warm and heavy in my arms. Ori mumbled the memory into the dent of my chest as I held her then, even if we both fighting sleep. 

We walked in silence again until we were safe at home. The cat lifted her head at the sight of us, still in the same place we saw her through the vid-feed. “Don’t get up, it’s fine,” I told her, taking my boots off with a sigh. Fish would never move, not unless I holding food. 

I was glad we were here. Ori’s apartment was a mess of unpacked crates, hardly a welcoming home; at mine we had a routine. I would cook, Ori would help, stealing whatever vegetables I had prepared. We’d eat at the table or the couch, depending if we had something to watch; more often than not we’d work on whatever work we brought home, right over our plates. 

Tonight’s attempt at dinner was a sad affair scraped up from my last remaining rations, a noodle soup even the cat refused to touch. “Do you have something I could borrow?” she asked, unzipping her dress right at the table.

I didn’t read too much into her sudden shedding, she only wanted comfort. “Top drawer of the bedroom. Not the undersuits, please.”

“Worried I’ll look better in them?”

I shrugged and cleared away the plates. “I’m sure you will, but they’re made for drell. You have something here of yours, anyway.”

Quite a few things, they seemed to accumulate. I kept the clothing Ori had left behind in one place: the discarded underwear I found shoved at the end of the bed; a work dress; a sweater. I laundered them all and kept them safe, folded neat and tidy beside my own.

Ori left the bedroom dressed in a basic shirt I got free for from work, and a pair of pale lilac shorts she wore to bed last time she was here. Her hair was pulled back with blunt pins that always seemed to clog the cleaning VI, though the pinks of her makeup remained.

No one saw this Ori but me. I always thought it was a privilege, her armour left behind. Or more accurately, discarded on my floor; I could always follow the trail of destruction to find her, a moving hurricane in purple.

“I need to do something for work,” she said. A quick kiss was placed on my cheek in apology, onmi-tool glowing from her arm.

I took the time to go over what Patel had logged into the system in my absence, and tilted my terminal window away from her. It’s not that the video footage of a bar was particularly gruesome, but the less Ori knew about the case the better.

It wasn’t as if I was ashamed, or thought she would tell anyone. The protection was an obligation to the law of course, but on a personal level I wanted her to be seperate. My girlfriend shouldn’t have to know about the murder and the violence, she would be left untainted by the grime of my job.

Not that my attempt at secrecy mattered. Ori was wrapped in her own world on the couch, preoccupied by the datapads and omni-windows she surrounded herself in. The cat ignored her from the other end, watching the occasional flicker of a screen move. A feat, all things considered; Fish barely tolerated Ori. 

The vid of the Golden Sunset cafe played on a small screen in front of me, the sound muted. The victim of the grey mould was meant to meet her friends here; I focused on the outside camera by the entrance, and I got what I needed in the first ten minutes of watching.

Even played at three times the speed, I could see that Phoy Calisi didn’t make it past the front door. She sat outside the cafe on a bench, blue head in her hands; Calisi looked sick, almost drunk on something, enough for a concerned friend to reach for her.

Calisi shook her off, and even in the static of the vid I could see her hand held out, a small smile plastered on. _ I’m fine, it’s okay. _

She would die three hours later. Whatever was injected into her happened before the cafe; I took screenshots for Patel to look at tomorrow when he got in, but out of my own curiosity I pulled up the map of the level, planning a possible route Calisi walked to get there.

There was no record of her travelcard being used on the rapid transit, but her tramcard was. Calisi got on at Shrine of Enkindlers and got off near her apartment at 800 Block twice in one day, according to her omni-tool data. 

I sent in the request file to the transport department for more vid recordings, my favour of the night done. All that was left was to log it all into C-Sec’s frailing databank system, but a huff from Ori caught my attention. She had worn a constant frown every time I looked over to the couch where she worked, to the point I had to say something. 

“That bad?”

“No. Yes. Kind of, it depends.”

“Ah. One of those.” I watched her again, her legs crossed in the mess of windows she had made. I had no idea how she could work in chaos, but apparently there was a _‘system.’ _

One particular message from her omni-tool made her scowl again. “What are you working on, may I see?” I asked.

It was somewhat hypocritical to ask, considering I couldn't share what was on mine. “It’s just a spreadsheet.” Ori shrugged, amused by my curiosity. “That’s all my work is, most of the time.”

I got up to look anyway. The layout on the screen was an elderly program I recognised as a centuries old design, one of the standardised universal systems everyone loathed. “It looks like water pipes,” I said, staring at the lines.

“A polite way of saying a sewage system, but they are. I’m checking to see why they keep on getting head loss issues, certain sections have different viscosity levels. Probably due to the extreme cold.”

“Which means?” I had no idea what head loss was, but she did. This Ori existed alongside the one who wore pretty pearl dresses and drank _elesa,_ it was all just a change of uniform.

“Raw sewage gets frozen and clogs up the pipes, no one knows why. I’m checking the valves through a simulation to work out what’s wrong.”

I smiled. Ori narrowed her eyes, suspicious of my reaction. “You deal with shit for work too,” I said. “What a coincidence, so do I.”

All I got was an eye roll. “Hilarious, I’ve never heard that one before. That’s something me, a civil engineer, has never heard of in their entire life. It is in fact _ a new joke. _”

“I never said I was a comedian,” I replied, retreating back to my own work. 

“But there’s plenty of things I find funny about you.” 

She went back to her terminal with a fading smile, and combined with the cat the pair of them competed in who was best at ignoring me. Out of my own boredom I combed through the victim’s social media and omni-tool data again from the safety of the kitchen table, this time with an eye on her recent purchases.

Phoy Calisi was a pious Siarist that donated a portion of her credits to charity, but not all of it. She lived well, and spend what I made in a month in a week’s worth of shopping alone.

People were creatures of habit, no matter the species. One particular store Calisi was a frequent visitor, a place called The Endless Stars. It was found on the edge of the Upper Wards, and came with a suitably trite tagline: _ Whole Food and Wellness Fuel For The Soul. _

I had never been, nor would I; I could look it up whatever they were on the extranet, of course, but knew they sold the kind of healing crystal nonsense I knew nothing about, but perhaps someone would.

“Ori. What are osmium crystals?” I said, peering over the couch to talk. “And why are they so expensive?”

“Part of the platinum family, seventy-six on the periodic table.” She recited the words without looking up from her terminal. “Found in the heart of white dwarf stars. Do you mean the jewellery craze, or the actual metal?”

She frowned at me, and I smiled. “The receipt just says healing crystal. Sold at a Wellness Centre, whatever that is.”

It dawned on her what I meant. Ori made a little noise, an _ ah-hah _ sound I always found endearing. _"That _ kind of crystal. Well, it would be an alloy if it was meant for a trinket, considering the pure form is highly toxic even to biotics. Reflects UV light well, and reacts to mass effect fields in pretty ways, which you can see but I can’t. I just see metal.”

I blinked my eyes unintentionally when she mentioned it, right where the implants were. “Not as pretty as you think, but I know what you mean now. The flashy metal that glows sometimes, seen it worn.”

“It’s all Siarist stuff, but it's popular again. Very expensive, though; I read there’s a branch of them that mix their tattoos with stardust and eezo matter- literally at one with the universe, that sort of thing.”

_ -are you sure this infection was forced intravenously?’ Patel asked, finally looking up from his omni-tool. ‘You said it needed to be put into the bloodstream to work- _

Tattoos, needles, injections. Phoy Calisi apparently believed in something, and spent enough credits to try and find it.

“Is this work related?” Ori asked, a delicate question.

I closed my windows with a swipe. “Yes, and you’ve been very helpful.”

She looked away, but I knew she would keep quiet about our conversation. “That’s my civic duty done for the night, then. Do you want to help me with the viscosity levels of frozen sewage water in return? There’s even a live feed of the pipes.”

Ori couldn’t phase me with literal shit; I worked in homicide, after all. “Just show me the highlights.” 

“Is that a dare?” At my shrug, she smiled. “Do you know, even with all thermal pipes, sewage is bunching up in places it shouldn’t? Waste just never behaves itself.”

Too easy. I snorted, back to my own work. “No comment.”

She laughed at my refusal to play into her words. “Is that your professional opinion as a working member of C-Sec, Officer Krios?”

“It’s Detective, and always.” I highlighted the crystal purchases and sent them both to CSI and Patel, a note of interest to follow. My report was already in the system, but Patel had logged in to check the noise- I knew he had seen I did the extra work done and my notes. 

It was enough to send me a private message, anyway:_ aren’t you a good boy :) How’s the accountant? _

I left him on read. Instead I did something unrelated to work, and passed the time by reading the rules of Go, a quiet companion to her spreadsheet frowning.

After half an hour, a loud: “found it!” Pulled me from my reading. Ori joined me by the kitchen table, a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be happy to know the laminar flow profile of the colony of Merax is now tip-top,” she said, tugging my head fin once as she moved towards the counter. “Do you want tea? I’m celebrating.”

“No thanks.” 

I put down the datapad to watch her. She rose on the tips of her feet to reach for a mug from the top shelf, put there out of reach from Fish and her boredom; the motion revealed the curve of her ass under her shorts, a soft temptation to reach out and touch.

“And what are you thinking about?” she asked, noticing my staring.

I could’ve lied, of course. Told her it was only a memory, a fleeting thought of my day. “You.”

Her flushed gratification was sweet, but it wasn’t as if my intentions were pure. “If I knew that friction loss in a straight pipe did it for you, I’d have mentioned it further.”

“You look nice,” I said, ignoring the mess of her words. “That’s all.”

Ori made one of of her grumbling human noises, and I smiled in response. “I was dressed in the most expensive thing I’ve ever owned last night, and all I got was mild confusion. But somehow this-” and she gestured to herself, the loose shirt and shorts she was in “-this is what makes Kolyat Krios happy.”

What I hoped was flattering clearly failed on landing; Ori turned on her heel to make her tea. “I’m happy in whatever you choose to wear.” 

Wrong answer. She put the empty mug down, kettle pushed to one side. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Believe what you like.” Ori narrowed her eyes at me, We were past the point of no return, but I still tried to soothe over the cracks. “A priest can look at the sea, you know. Sometimes I look twice to remember it all.”

The idiom confused her, a rarity. “You’re not as subtle as you think with that. I catch you staring at odd things, but I suppose you would.” 

At least she was amused. Ori tugged at her shirt to reveal a shoulder, a bare collarbone on show. She did it to make a point, but like I fool I proved it for her. “Maybe I want you to notice that I am,” I said, reaching out to touch her exposed throat. “Have you thought of that?”

She draped her hands loosely over my neck, not quite holding on. “But you still wait for me to make the first move,” she said, leaning closer to me. “You always do.”

I wondered if there was some truth to it, if I had fallen into an old tradition, at least for a drell. Her hands wandered down to the edge of my pants, fingers skirting the opening of my zipper; a woman is forward, a man waits. They were gender roles that had existed for centuries on Rakhana, and it annoyed me I played at them still. 

”Your memory is different to mine,” I said, voice stuck at the base of my throat.

“Prove it.” It never took much to get started, not from her. So far our desire lined up in neat little ways, an even match in need and want. So I picked her up fast, just enough to startle her; she kissed me as soon as her legs latched around my waist. 

Ori recovered with a smile, pulling apart just enough to unzip my vest. I shoved her against the kitchen counter, mouth on hers again. “Just takes two words,” she murmured against my lips. “So simple.” 

“I never said I was smart.” My hands were already yanking down her shorts, but then the call came from work. 

We both froze at the noise. 

“Oh,” she said, recognising the chime. We both knew I would answer it, too.

I got my frustration out of my voice before I could respond. “Gods fuck it. Arashu spit in my eye, thrice fuck it all, gods _ dammit _-”

I knew C-Sec code enough to know my caller came from a precinct outside of Zakera, and scowled at the interruption. “This is Detective Krios,” I said blandly, after a throat clear.

“This is Detective Berius over at the 14th on Kithoi,” a turian voice answered. “I’ve been advised to contact you over a case regarding an individual you might be able to help us with.”

“Give me a moment.” 

The ‘individual’ would be about a drell or a hanar, it always was. I gave the conversation the privacy it needed in the dark of my bedroom, a look of apology to a half-naked Ori as I shut the door. “Okay. Go on.”

“We have a suspect to a murder case due an interview in a few hours, but he is refusing to talk. We’ve found vid evidence and a couple of emails that tie him to the victim, but nothing solid. We’re wondering if you could come in and sit in with us, friendly face might get him talking.”

“Are they drell?” I asked, getting to the point. It was blunt and crude, but so was I.

The relief was palpable. “Yeah, that’s why I called, not many of you guys on the Citadel. Last I checked the cells he was calling himself a tool, weird dude. Uh, no offence.”

I had no desire to visit another Ward to deal with this in person, but the sinking feeling in my chest told me I would anyway. “Not so strange to my ears. There is an old Lasharian belief that the fault an action lies on the person who ordered it,” I said.

“That doesn’t work here,” Berius replied. “He’s not a soldier.”

“Does he strike you as anything else?” I asked.

_ -I was taken when I was six, Kolyat. I was trained in many things, your mother told me I could live a different- _

No. Now was not the time. 

“If you’re asking if I think he’s capable of murdering someone in their own home, then yes,” Berius said, talking over the memory. “He is. But he’s also a mine worker, and has been for twenty years, according to his census records.”

A Compact-trained assassin would never be caught, unless they _ wanted _ to be caught. “Not from Kahje, then.”

The line clicked into static. Even though we were on the same station, the reception was still awful. “According to customs, he came from a place called Enkindler’s Maw.”

“That’s a mining colony in the Relic system,” I said. "An outsource of the Illuminated Primacy." It was hanar-owned, but drell-run; a rough place full of fifty hours of daylight and chafing race riots, with only a grudging peace-treaty held with the local vorcha and krogan gangs.

“Still an odd dude.” The line crackled again, and I waited for the inevitable question. “He doesn’t respond to us, might to you. Will you come in?”

There it was. 

I wondered if I would actually be paid the hours this time, probably not; I wondered why I couldn’t say no.

“I’ll be there in an hour, I’m going by the trams.” My cruiser was tucked up in the garage at the precinct, and it would be quicker to use the Gods damn shuttle service in the time it would take to get permission to use it for overtime.

“Boss says it’s okay if you’re a little late,” he said. “His legal isn’t here yet. We can stall the meeting if you want, we can hold him for another five hours.”

“No, let’s get this over with.” I didn’t want my day off to start with work, funnily enough. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Ori was dressed and back on the couch when I came out, a cushion on her lap. “What now?” she asked, but all it took was one look for her to know. “Poor Kolyat, you look miserable. I’m sorry.”

“I should be telling you that.” 

She followed me to the door as I put my jacket on, neatening the lines of the collar before I could. My hands found hers to still them, an excuse to touch. “At least you got to see my rooftop,” she said, kissing the divot between my knuckles. “I’ll watch something with Fish, I’m not going anywhere- unless you’re throwing me out. Are you?”

“Of course not.” My fingers found the edge of her jaw, my thumbs on the edge of her collarbone. “What a lovely rooftop it was,” I said, kissing the empty space left by my hands.

She moved her head away to close her eyes, a small sigh on her lips. “Wouldn’t go that far, but I’ll take it.”

I tilted her chin and kissed her firmly this time, just like we did in the kitchen. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I said, reluctant to pull away from the cradle of her warmth. “I promise. It’s just a flying visit.”

I’d make sure of it was, too.


	6. It Always Rains On Kahje

When you’re a minority in Citadel space, you know where your people are- even if you’ve never spoken to each other. Not every drell I knew was an acquaintance by circumstance, but I was still a police officer; community outreach was part of my job, whether I liked it or not.

So I reached out, on occasion. Working in Zakera’s Homicide and Violent Crime department was already a full-time job, one loaded with enough asocial hours to murder my attempts at a private life. I still did the extra work without arguing -well, _ much _\- but being C-Sec’s only enrolled drell chafed.

It was especially frustrating now. Instead of divulging Ori of the last of her clothing, I was stuck on public transport, the files of a murder suspect my only company. 

At least the trams were working, a small miracle for the Citadel. I changed lines at the remains of the Presidium Junction, staring at the space left between the endless scaffolding and plastic wrap. Most only saw the Presidium passing through the blur of carriage window; it had yet to return to its former glory, even after the years of rebuilding. 

The rumours of the ring being used as a secret cabal for the Council were unfounded -or at least, I assumed they were- but I knew some of the space was used for a hydroponic system to feed the station. What was once the gleaming heart of the Citadel was now a working farm, the waters of the reservoirs used to keep a hungry population fed. 

I closed the report as soon as a turian couple sat near me, but I had read enough to prepare for the interview. The main suspect was Soval Lukiad, a drell mine worker from First Land. He came from one of Kahje’s mining colonies in the overstuffed Relic system, a button pusher for the planet’s gas syphoning. This was Lukiad’s first trip to the Citadel, and one that resulted with a trail of circumstantial evidence that pointed to his successful attempt at murder. 

The victim was Horius Veriril, a turian male in his thirties. He was killed in his own apartment, but forensics was the same the Wards over. The results of a crime scene were never as fast as the vids make it out to be; waving a magical omni-tool scan never solved things immediately, despite what the general public thought. 

All the detectives of Kithoi had was vague vid footage, at least until CSI confirmed something more solid. I was sent to help squeeze out a confession from Lukiad, but I worked on a team that refused to use the standard C-Sec interrogation methods of: ‘it was you that did it, right?” while a suspect remained cuffed to a table.

DI Hoorik taught us to treat violent criminals with respect in interviews, even if they deserved none. She thought the old C-Sec way was a guilt-presumptive process that ran the risk of false confessions, especially with the more vulnerable of souls. 

It’s what happens when you put turians in charge of policing a galaxy, I suppose. Her human method of encouraging a suspect to tell their version of events overlapped with many other species, drell included.

The _ got you _moment came when we had them repeat it all again. We did this until we saw patterns and cracks, loose threads to pull away at; with certain drell the method was a complete waste of effort, of course.

Even I could recite past lectures from the C-Sec Academy word for word if I wanted to. A suspect with perfect memory could do the same with several stories, no matter how loaded our questions were. 

I had no problems interviewing someone who looked like me, especially when there was evidence tying them to murder. The vid footage of Lukiad leaving the victim’s apartment complex was enough for an interview, as was the trail of loaned money and email interactions between the two.

An extranet friendship that ended in murder was more common than most thought; Soval Lukiad and Horius Veriril used to be friends through emails, but a large sum of cold, hard credits apparently changed things.

_ -never loan friends money,’ Patel said, laughing at T’Lori’s refusal to pay me back for his lunch. ‘Say it’s a gift, that way it’s a surprise if it’s paid back- _

But the vid was not enough for the courts, and the team needed something of substance. They were still waiting on Lukiad’s hotel possessions to be processed by CSI; the way Veriril was stabbed over and over with an omni-blade, fragments of blood would be on something, even if he cleaned himself with bleach.

Precinct 14 was a short walk from the tram, though the urge to follow the busier flow of pedestrians towards the food hall was a temptation. If Ori had her way we’d spend our free time here indefinitely, Kithoi was her favourite Ward for eating out. Edroki Plaza was a largely salarian community, one where she could get her fill of all the spiced crickets and greasy fried fish she grew up eating.

_ -she speared the last of my larvae before I could get to it, shoved in a purple-lined mouth too fast for my slow fork. ‘Mine,’ she said. ‘It’s the rules, Kol- _

I’m not quite sure how salarian food represented her nostalgia of Illium the most, but it did. It was also the last memory I would indulge in of her.

Thrice fuck it, why was I here? I finished work, I was free for a whole day and night, Ori was alone in my apartment, left at the door as I-

_ -My fingers cupped the edge of her jaw, my thumbs on her neck. ‘What a lovely rooftop it was,’ I said, kissing the empty space left by my hands- _

No. Time to focus.

I flicked my collar once to rid myself of the memory, finally at the shabby building of Precinct 15. It looked as bad as ours, but at least the bullet holes were covered up. No one looked twice as I walked through the officer entrance, but a bored salarian constable managed to stop me at the desk. 

He squinted at my ID with a suspicion only a C-Sec officer could manage; his uniform plate said his name was Weydek, a portion of the word tarnished from use. “Oh. You,” he said. “I should take you to DI Uhthoon before he yells at someone again. ‘With great anger: someone get me that drell!’”

I narrowed my eyes, already dubious this would go well. That an elcor have made it to Detective Investigator for C-Sec was a story in itself, but I was in no mood for asshole, even if we were both a minority.

Still, I was curious. Most C-Sec precincts were run by turians, followed by a large amount of humans thanks to the recent swell thanks to our time in Sol. I knew DI Uhthoon was one of three working elcor within the Wards; the remaining two were stationed on Zakera alongside my precinct, right where the largest elcor population lived.

My guide was mostly silent, at least. He pointed out the important things of the precinct -the only working kava machine, the canteen, the toilets- before we reached the incident room, the usual poorly lit hellhole with no windows. 

The looming presence of DI Uhthoon took up most of the space, a grey elcor in light C-Sec armour. He squinted my way when we entered, eyes on the glow of my temporary ID-chit pinned to my jacket. “Obvious statement: our Zakera detective has arrived. Amused recognition: Detective Berius, say hello to the nice man.”

“Hello to the nice man.” It was the flanged voice of the turian I spoke to over an omni-call, the one that brought me here. He was brown-plated with yellow colony markings, hidden by the bulk of his boss; Berius gave me a casual salute from the side, too intent on his screen to look up.

It seemed no one had the luxury of chairs. I stood by DI Uhthoon in response, watching him just as intently as he was watching me. “What do you have for me?” I asked.

“I found him outside,” said Constable Weydek, apparently still here. It was not my place to dismiss him, but his superior officer soon picked up on my mood. “Incredulous observation: well done you. That will be all, constable.” We all watched him leave before we spoke again. “Wry aside: the new ones take some time adjusting,” said Uhthoon.

Talking with an elcor was always an exercise of the unsaid, and I cleared my throat to get used to the rhythm of the conversation. “Genuine warmth: hello, Detective Krios. Thank you for coming, I know this is your night cycle.” 

It was on the tip of my tongue to lie and say it was no trouble, but it really was. Instead I fixed my eyes on the monitor in front of us, waiting for the brief to start. “Free time is only a concept.”

Detective Berius moved beside me now, too close for comfort. Some turians had no sense of personal space no matter how much xeno-relations training they had, and I took a step back before he could step on my boots. “Apparently freetime exists off the Wards,” he said. “Sounds like a prothean conspiracy, if you ask me.”

Uhthoon’s eyes twinkled when he faced me. “Amusement: we didn’t, but many things sound strange to you, Detective Berius. Proof is often stranger than fiction.” 

In an eye blink the mood had changed. Uhthoon activated the holoboard with a slow knuckle, frowning at the image; a mugshot of Sovial Lukiad took up a corner, a beaten-down drell with striped orange scales. He looked like he lived a hard life, but mining a gas planet wasn’t exactly gentle work. 

“Anything from forensics yet?” I asked, staring at it. It would be me in twenty years time, give or take. Perhaps I should start looking after myself more; less junk food, a better sleep schedule. Take care of my scales and oil them more, instead of the vague scrubbing I did.

Berius shrugged. “That’s another prothean mystery, at least on this Ward. Zakera any better for CSI?”

His boss spoke over us before I could reply. “Direct order: have you read what we have so far?”

For an elcor, he got down to business faster than I assumed. “On the journey here, yes.”

“Delicate inquiry: you understand why we called you.” 

DI Uhthoon’s pedipalps quivered in an expectant reply, but I was too tired for polite blandness. “I am a drell. So is your suspect.”

“Ineffectual surprise: really, the file said you were volus. What a treat this is for us all.”

Sarcasm from an elcor was not on my list of things to endure this evening, even if it was for work. 

“I’ve read enough to know that gambling is in Sere Lukiad’s pantheon of gods,” I said. “He doesn’t seem the type to leave his home system for much, the loaned money is enough of a reason. The mine workers of First Land are an insular community- it takes a lot for one to leave. I don’t discredit the motive, just the lack of evidence.”

“Blunt disdain: because as we all know, murderers make it easy for us. Amused recollection: Zakera was always the best and brightest for up and coming detectives. I suppose the war’s changed a few things.”

Berius shifted on his talons beside me, uncomfortable as the attempt at banter. “Curious thing he said, though. Lukiad is mostly exercising his right to remain silent, but he told the custody sergeant that his kind were only tools. That you don’t blame tools for the work they do.”

_ -you were disconnected,’ Father said. ‘Kolyat. I had to do something, I could not let you walk the path I- _

Berius said as much over the omni-call. Lukiad was still a murder suspect, even if he looked like me; his defence was something I had heard a million times over, even from my father.

I inhaled before I spoke, breath heavy in my lungs. “It is a cultural belief leftover from the old ways. An empty vessel is disconnected from the Gods, body and soul separate from the other. To Lukiad, the burden of guilt is not his- at least, in his mind, it’s not. He thinks he is only a tool, not a person.”

“Thinly veiled contempt: I once attended a crime scene where a woman killed her husband with a soup ladle. I do not arrest kitchen appliances for murder.”

This time I was firmer with my opinion. “It’s the usual old Compact obligations repeated as rote, coupled with religious guilt. It is not an excuse for murder, even on Kahje,” I said, nodding at them both. “Lukiad does not strike me as an assassin.”

Detective Berius smiled, mandibles lifting at the comment. “Not really, no,” he added. “Our victim was a facepaint salesman with debt problems, hardly a prime target either. Veriril’s records show he barely left Citadel space, but his omni-tool correspondence show he was in contact with Lukiad. Their last exchange was two months ago, over a personal loan not paid back. Veriril blocked Lukiad from all of his accounts.”

“Anything in his extranet history for our suspect?” I asked, curious. “Call list? Emails?”

“Bemused rumination: Lukiad and Berius exchanged a fair few emails about gambling and women before they fell out, a sad desperation in both. Pointed aside: Lukiad was especially obsessed with Skyllian Five, and card counting. Dryly: good for a drell, I suppose. All that memory.”

“Both are absolutely terrible with the ladies,” Berius added, pulling up screenshots for the holoscreen. “Their social media is a long list of chasing women who ignore them. Our victim lived alone with his sister on the Ward- she was off station for the murder, coming home now to deal with the fallout now.”

“And of Lukiad?” I asked, flicking through their Citadel Connections pages myself. The loneliness of them both was particularly damning, but at least Veriril had a family that would mourn him.

Berius put his hands behind his back. “More asocial. A very small extranet footprint, but enough to confirm him as a person. Both had a large gambling habit, though- Lukiad was just better at it. Dude loved his Skyllian Five, but still lost credits. Despite his ‘techniques.’”

“This all circles back to money,” I said. I read the email Lukiad sent to what appeared to be his only friend: _ I need the credits back. I need it. You promised you’d pay. I can’t believe you’re doing this _.

“Obvious disdain: Clearly.”

The sarcasm stung. “It’s motive enough for me, but not the courts,” I replied. “Why am I here?”

Detective Berius answered this time. “Get him to talk, he’s not. Lukiad’s legal aid is a drell, we figured seeing you on the other side of the table might make him feel secure enough to say something, he ain’t talking to us.”

“Ah. _ Sera _ Laka,” I said, naming his lawyer. “Legal aid sent for her, I assume.”

DI Uhthoon sighed in response, and I smiled. Not that I meant it: out of all my people on the Wards -aside from the family that ran the Kahje imports store- Laka was the one I saw the most.

She was also a sea-hag to deal with, something I knew too well from personal experience. I suffered her presence both through C-Sec and my dealings with the Kepral’s Research Fund; Laka was consistently dogged in both.

“Wearily: she’s sitting with him in an interview room now, they’re waiting for us.” Uhthoon replied, shutting off the monitors with a slow hand. “We’re due there on the hour, should you need time to gather yourself.”

There wasn’t much else to do, save drink a foul tea for the caffeine boost alone. All I had to do was hope my way of talking would suit Lukiad best; I had to get him to admit he travelled to the Citadel to kill someone, all over an unpaid loan of money.

It was decided Berius would sit in with me and I would lead, with DI Uhthoon watching the vid-feed in the observation room. “Good luck,” he said, tagging my shoulder. “Let’s see how Zakera works.”

As interview rooms went, this was the nicer ones, even if it was dimly lit. I sat opposite two people looked like me, more than I had seen in days. It was a strange feeling, that we dominated the room. I was so used to playing the stranger, that my own kind almost surprised me.

“Sere Krios. They called you in too, I see.” Laka squinted at my arrival, a brief scowl on her brow. She was a green-scaled woman with yellow eyes, and old enough to be my grandmother. Hers was the voice of an elder I should respect, like any good drell would. 

In theory, anyway. “It’s detective for now,” I told her. “Interview started at 21:03. Detective Berius, Detective Krios, Advocate Etora Laka and Sere Soval Lukiad are present. But you can call me Kolyat, if you prefer.”

Lukiad was still shocked to see me. “I didn’t know C-Sec had drell, shit,” he said, blinking in disbelief at my presented ID.

“Only singular,” I replied. “For the record, I am showing Sere Lukiad my identification. We don’t get many First Worlders on the Citadel. Do you mind if I call you Soval?” 

He shook his head, still surprised. So much for him exercising hit right to remain silent. “You look Kahje-born,” he said. “Sound it, too.”

I could fake pleasantries when I needed to. “Correct. I was born in the Domed Illumines, but I was raised in Enkindler’s Basket, if you know where that is.”

He frowned, looking away to recall a memory. “Farms. Lots of them. _ Uffa _ melons come from there.”

“And not much else.” It was my turn to look at him. “Do you know why we’re all here, Soval?”

He looked away, refusing to answer. “For the record, Mr. Lukiad is now silent,” said Detective Berius, after the pause became too much.

“You’re not like most First Worlders I meet,” I told him. “Chatty bunch of people who like a drink. That's the stereotype, isn’t it?” Soval looked at me, curious. “We all have them. You’re a miner too, I assume. It pays well, from what I hear; drier air than Kahje too, no water. You’re lucky.” 

“_ Lucky _.” He spat the word out, staring at his hands. They were rougher than mine, scales scarred and mottled from manual labour. Mining was still hard work, even though if the extraction was automated.

“How is this relevant?” Laka asked. I refused to look at her.

“Why are you on the Citadel, Soval?” I asked him, my softer hands on the table. 

Soval snapped forward. His reply was automated, eyes wide in its recollection. “Flickering green light, the sound of the constant drills outside, always drilling on First World. The game ends, the vidscreen shows I won, I won. Ah, _ fuck _-” 

Silence found us again. Soval looked hollow, ashamed at the overshare. He did not apologise to us, the other drell in the room. He didn’t need to. 

“When memories are strong, sometimes the body takes over,” said Laka. She looked at the camera as she did, knowing exactly where it was through the glass. 

I knew about loud memories. Detective Berius probably did too, if he paid attention to the Academy’s xeno classes. “Still admissible in court,” he replied, tilting his head. “Did you meet Horius Veriril through this game you mentioned? We know you’ve lost a large amount of credits to gambling. Veriril played too, according to his account. Was the argument you had over this?”

The brusque line of questioning annoyed me. Soval stared at his hands, mute; of course he would clam up. 

“For the record, my client chooses to remain silent,” said Laka. “Despite his memory lapse.” 

We needed a softer approach. Soval’s recollection had rattled him, the games clearly meant something. Even among drell, loose memories were a burden; it took control to force them back. I was not exempt from the weight of memories of course, but I let mine pass in silence.

_ Most _ of the time. 

Sometimes, however, I used them for my own gain. 

The one I wanted to share was easy to find, and I willed it to the present with little effort. Remembering the taste of cheap diner pancakes filled my mouth first, a fraction of the real thing. “I smell the burning sugar of human food, the light of Albuquerque in my eyes,” I said, staring at the peeling plastic of the wall. “‘One day you will lose control,’ Father said. ‘The memories will come, and you will realise your body is a vessel overflowing with water, moving itself on its own accord.’ I refused to believe him. Why would I? I never had a problem before.” 

The room was deathly silent in response. I inhaled sharply, then looked up at the man who -allegedly- stabbed his only friend to death. “I was eighteen years old at the time,” I told him. “Things change.”

It was an understatement even a stranger could follow. Laka blinked in surprise at the mention, but her client only laughed. “Kids are dumb,” he said, a wheezing rattle of sound. Soval’s amusement turned into a series of wet coughs, a polite hand now over his mouth. “Sorry-”

Most drell knew what the coughs meant. Detective Berius moved a glass water in range, an empty gesture. Water was the last thing needed, even if it was our constant companion.

“How long?” I asked, once the coughing had calmed down.

“Only a year,” Soval said, the emphysema clipping his speech still. “I’ve not started the infusion treatment yet.”

At his words, Berius whipped his head up from the spot on the table he was staring at. “You’re sick?” he asked, incredulous at the statement.

“Kepral’s,” Soval replied, confused he had to. “What else?”

Laka flickered her eyes between us at the discovery of her client’s disease, a new line of defence to play. “Sere Lukiad should not be held in custody in this state. All stages of Kepral’s requires constant medical attention,” she said. “I suggest you terminate the interview. I also suggest release and home confinement; a C-Sec cell is not viable for his condition.”

“Your hotel room is still being processed by our forensic department,” I replied, speaking to Soval directly. “We cannot provide you a new one.”

“He still has rights.” Laka replied, firmly. “You know he does.”

“Of course. I am sure we can come to an arrangement concerning his Kepral’s.”

Detective Berius was not, as Patel was fond of saying, a happy camper. “Your client refused to explain _ his condition _ to us upon his arrest for suspected murder, and remained silent in our custody. We cannot help Mr. Lukiad if he tells us nothing.”

The defence advocate smiled the smile of someone who had heard it a thousand times, especially in a room like this. “How fortunate I am here to do it for you, then. End this.”

I refused to look her way. “Let us finish our talk first,” I said, smiling at Soval. “We can work out where we all go after. I’m sure your meds are waiting for you in your hotel room. When are you due your next round of antibiotics, Soval? If you do not mind me asking.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Six am, if your time is right. It’s hard to count the hours in a holding cell.”

I made a show of looking at my omni-tool. “In five hours, then- plenty of time. I am going to assume you’re on cipoxidin?” 

Laka stood up at that, her hands on the table. “Don’t answer any more questions, Detective Krios is not an actual healthcare representative.”

“But we can get you one.” This time I looked at her. “Have you explained to your client what happens when we take him to the hospital?” It was quiet again, apart from the sudden click of armour as Detective Berius relaxed back into his seat. 

“What?” Soval asked, frowning now.

“Your time in custody is only on pause. You will be escorted to the nearest emergency room in cuffs, and while you will have privacy for your medical examination, an armed C-Sec presence will be at your bedside immediately after. Once you are deemed fit enough to attend an interview, we resume it.”

“A hospital is better than a cell.” It was a useless waste of time and resources for us all, in other words. Soval leaned back in his seat, sullen once more. “I need my meds.”

“Which a doctor can provide for you, no problem. Unless you want us to find them for you in your hotel room?”

His reply was instant. “No.”

I counted three to steel my temper before I replied. “Hospital it is, then. You appear in full control of your faculties, and I can hear that your emphysema is at a minimum. But, as Sera Laka says, I am no expert. Just a detective with a few questions regarding the murder of your old friend.“ 

_ -I watched as Father lined his pills next to his awful protein shake, the mask loose at his throat. Everything was perfectly spaced, a neat order to follow- _

Soval smiled, for some reason. Like this was a win for him, somehow. 

What I wanted to do was walk out the interview room and be done. I was here out of obligation, not duty, and I knew DI Uhthoon was watching on the other side of the glass. If it was me making the call, I would take it.

Perhaps an extension of custody would be a useful breathing room, Soval’s attempt at stalling would help us. They were still waiting for the crime labs to be done with the batches of DNA processing found at the scene -quite a lot to check with a hotel room always in flux- but extra time could help.

I had no say in the matter. I was here to represent C-Sec’s only working drell, not call the shots.

_ -how many of you guys is there anyway?’ T’Lori asked, frowning. ‘On the Citadel?” I replied. ‘Just under a hundred across the Wards, give or take.’ Bats frowned. ‘Nah man, I mean like, across the galaxy. I know you guys is tiny in number- _

Thrice fuck this, I wanted to go home. Home to Ori, to my cat, to my bed. Why was I still here?

I soon got my absolution. The door hissed open to a polite fanfare. It still surprised how dark interview rooms were whenever it happened, but I knew it was a psychological choice.

No species liked the dark, after all. “Casual greetings: we can stop for now,” DI Uhthoon said, large frame blocking the light again.

Berius deferred immediately, like the good turian he was. “DI Uhthoon has entered the room, for the record. Interview terminated at 00:12, standard Citadel time,” he said. “Shall I accompany Mr. Soval back to the cells, sir?”

“Pleasant confirmation: Yes, that would be best. I have called for a medic to accompany him to the hospital, per request. Unless you have changed your mind, Mr. Lukiad, and we can continue?”

Soval looked up. You had to, with elcor. “No.” 

The room soon emptied, and I was left feeling the spare detective I was for the case. All I could do was I loiter by the kava machine until I was told I could go home; I had been awake for twenty hours now, technically my night cycle. Ori would be sleeping when I got in, at least. The bed would be warm when I got there, a pleasant thought to go home to. 

Being here felt a monumental waste of time, chiefly because it was. At least we had time to pin something solid; even if Uhthoon’s team found nothing at the hotel, perhaps the vid evidence and Lukiad’s demands would be enough for the prosecutor to argue the case for murder.

Hah, _ perhaps _. The kava machine protested loudly at my sudden poking, a startled beep of noise. Why did I lie to myself with nonsense? Of course a vague connection wasn’t enough, the team needed CSI to find something.

“Sere Krios!” Laka jolted me out of my musing. She used her elder voice again, this time the tone of a displeased teacher. “A moment, please.”

_ -why do you never do as you are told,’ she said, dragging me to the principal’s office. ‘For once, why don’t you listen- _

“I can give you one.” I answered her, at least, leaning against the kava machine in a slouch. “Since you asked so politely. Even if it’s technically my night cycle.” The bright lights of Kithoi were a glaring contradiction to my words, but that was the Citadel for you.

“This is about the Kepral’s issue,” she said, fiddling with her jacket sleeves. “I know-”

I cut her off before she could finish. “I’m only here today on a consulting basis. Any questions regarding your client should be directed to DI Uhthoon. But I can pass something on as a proxy, if you would prefer to talk to me.”

She waved me off, an instant dismissal. “This is not about Sere Lukiad, it’s about the Kepral’s Research Fund. I understand you’re on the board?”

_ -you cannot outrun the tide,’ he said. Father coughed. ‘Not even the best of us, Kolyat- _

It seemed the slow death of our people was today’s unofficial theme. 

Hoo-fucking-ray. Father’s legacy still came with a price, no matter how fast I ran from it. I had to pay taxes on his strange fucking investments in systems I couldn’t pronounce, much less sell off, but his final act of heroism was inescapable. 

The creation of the Kepral’s Fund was always his infamy, not mine. I was a member of the board because of if, but it was not as if I did much; I had no time for the monthly meetings, even if I wanted to be there. 

I didn’t, if I was honest with myself. Laka _ did _, however. 

“What do you want?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her intent. 

“There’s no need for rudeness,” she said. Her tone was sharp, a lawyer’s barbed tongue. Etora Laka never used to be an attorney; after being the Citadel’s only attempt at a drell legal representative, she had to be. 

I knew she used to work at the embassy before her training. Some civil servant pushing data around for the hanar, occasionally called in by C-Sec to deal with drell doing things they shouldn't.

I had a strong suspicion that despite her traditional role in the Compact agreement, she wanted us free of it. Laka never returned to Kahje, a curious thing. Not that I could judge, of course. I never looked back the moment I set foot on Zakera.

“It’s a fair question, considering my day. Say what you’re here for,” I told her. “I don’t have long.”

Laka placed a hand on her stomach to steady herself. “I want a place at the table, to be frank with you. I know you appreciate bluntness, _ Detective _ Krios. And you know I can do more for our community on it than I can anywhere else.”

“I can’t exactly give you a seat.” While true, I still had some clout. I may have got the ball rolling with a conversation at my father's memorial service, but it was never my ball to begin with. 

“Of course. There’s usually a vote, I know. But you can suggest, certainly.” 

“Right. Are you done?” I replied, looking at my omni-tool. A message from Ori blinked once: _ going to bed now, xx _

The snub annoyed Laka. The steel in her spine had returned, nose in the air. I wondered how many how many court cases she had won by that look, I hadn’t paid attention to the records.

”I would work harder than you,” she said. “On the campaign for Kepral’s awareness. You know I do already, I never see you at any community gathering. No temple days, no swap meets, nothing.”

The statement stung. “I attend what I can. C-Sec keeps me busy.”

She snorted, a hollow sound. “I can guarantee most of us give zero fucks about you and your job. You’re a curiosity, not an accurate representation of who we are.”

Laka was right there, but only in part. Independent drell like me were still drell, whether she liked it or not; my scales didn’t exactly scrub themselves off in the shower, I was still Kolyat Krios after.

So I laughed, to her annoyance. Her fists bunched to her side as I did. “Oh, _ we _. As if all drell could be so neatly labelled. I never claimed to be an ambassador of our people,” I told her. “Whatever else you want, take it up with the organisation. Speaks-to-Light is our secretary, they deal with this sort of thing.”

_ -I’ve never had a problem with the actual work of the project,’ Ori said, her hand in mine. ‘Politics, well. That’s different. We could offer the easiest fix in the galaxy, even pay out of our pocket to help, but one politician can silence it, just because- _

Laka sighed, fists behind her back now. “Out of your depth is a lovely alien expression, isn’t it? Different meaning to us, but that’s what you are. Charity is a business, and you’re inept at it. The Kepral’s Fund is important, Krios. You know it deserves to succeed- you of all people should know the cost of its failure.”

I assumed that was a dig at my father’s fate. Precious few knew that he had Kepral’s, but it wasn’t as if drell and disease were far apart from the other. “So do most of us.”

Laka softened now, a gentle touch to my arm. “I know you care, even if you’re outside of Kahje.” 

My chuff of annoyance was enough to make Laka smile, like I was an errant child to indulge. “Is this all?” I said. “I am needed elsewhere.” 

The softness become hard again. Laka’s hand was on my wrist before I could move away, a mother’s firm grip. “Krios. Wait.”

“I suggest you _ remove _ that.” 

It was the same tone I used whenever I held my sidearm for work. That she had tried to control me in a Gods damn C-Sec precinct took something, but Laka took her time in letting go. 

“You can wear the nice uniform and be C-Sec’s drell, I don’t care,” she said. “But help me help us. I’m good at what I do.” There was a pause then, a narrowing of her eyes. “I spoke to a Kellam’s Industry representative yesterday at the Thessian gala,” she said, politeness laced in her tone.

_ Ori. _

The subject change made me stand up straighter. “Good for you. I’m told the tickets were hard to come by.”

Laka looked smug, her pinched features smiling at her fortune. “Of course. This representative, she mentioned that I could talk to you about this. That you believed the Kepral’s Research Fund will work. She spoke very highly of you, I can’t think why.” 

There was a small part of me that felt betrayed, that Ori had spoken to this she-hag without me. I wondered if Laka had cornered her at the benefit, just to get her way. “She has nothing to do-”

“Oh, she has everything to do with it. Ms. Lee is one of the new movers and shakers to the charity sector, did you know? Her manipulation was impressive to watch in action by the way, I almost made notes.” 

“You leave her out of your games.” Laka knew something, she had to. Was Ori’s secret safe? Did she know the Cerberus connection? How far did her sister go to cover them?

Laka smiled at my anger. “I can see the appeal, pretty for a human. You’re a fool not to use her, of course. I’m sure Miss Lee would help us if you asked, she’d do anything for you. Do not discredit a lover’s devotion, _ sere _.”

-_ Ori glared at me from the table in her ridiculous dress, an obnoxiously green cocktail between us. ‘Kolyat I am only trying to help,’ she said. ‘I know the Kepral’s Fund is your burden, but- _

That night was a sore subject between us, and never mentioned again. I was already rattled by the constant conversations about my father from complete strangers; my new girlfriend pointing out the presumed mistakes I had made while doing it was too much to take.

So I told Laka a variation of what I told Ori that night. “You think I do nothing for drell,” I said. “That I’ve turned my back on us.”

_ -of course I don’t, but I know C-Sec comes first for you.’ Ori held my hand as we spoke, and I almost forgave her. ‘That’s a good, noble thing too. I just know charity politics, that’s all. I even have a few contacts, if you want them. Thanks to my work at Kellam, I could even- _

“You could do better,” Laka replied.

I let her stew in silence before I spoke again. “It matters they see me in this,” I said, touching the C-Sec logo of my badge. “That the likes of _ them _ see the likes of me in the uniform. That we can be something else other than a helpmeet for hanar. That’s what I do for my people. That’s how I serve.”

“You serve yourself.” Laka held out a hand in contrition before I sparked into a rage. “But you have to understand something. Either we’re a seat at the table, or we’re food. Especially now, with the entire galaxy fighting for scraps.”

I frowned at the phrasing. “You want to be on the committee that bad?”

She waved off the reply like an annoying fly. “I meant the likes of _ them _versus us, as you so eloquently put. I have years of knowing how they speak, how they act. I know what force to apply, what honey to bait the trap with. I have decades of dirt and contacts they would kill for. And would, if they knew I knew.”

I knew my brow was raised. “Right. Of course. If you feel threatened at anytime, please don’t hesitate in telling me. C-Sec is here to keep you safe.”

Despite my forced sarcasm, I believed her. Laka had worked for the embassy for decades; she had to know something, even if the war levelled most of it. 

This time she poked my chest in retaliation, and this time I let her. “Enough of that, young man. Put my name forward to the board, Krios. Let me do my work.” 

-_ contrary for the sake of it,’ Sere Moros said, the only teacher I liked. I slumped lower in my seat, the bruise of the schoolyard punch throbbing my fists. ‘You have a fight in you. I have no desire to kill it, just… we need to apply your energy to a better use- _

The memory sunk like a stone, but I took the hint at its passing. “I’ve never liked you, _ Sera _ Laka,” I said, finally using the proper honorific. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps the universe needs a she-demon to deal with its problems, I don’t know.”

She laughed, amused. “You think you’re the first to call me a hag? I know what I am, boy. Not many can say the same.”

No, that was the problem. I fingered the dent in my nose, too tired to argue. “I’ll put your name forward. But don’t me regret it.”

Laka waved off my words again. “You’re not the only one I’ve spoken to, of course. It is decided, then.” Laka tilted her hips, an obnoxiously feminine pose. She offered me her hand to confirm my words, and I held her wrist loosely, the way our people dealt our deals for centuries.

Her pulse was still at my fingertips when DI Uhthoon bellowed down the corridor, a welcome interruption from selling my soul to a hag-witch. “Happy greetings: Detective Krios,” he said. “I bring good news.”

Laka frowned at the words. Good for us, but not her client. “Excuse me,” I told her.

In the privacy of a darkened corridor free of defence lawyers, DI Uhthoon spoke again. “With relief: labs have found DNA evidence of the victim at the hotel room. I called several favours to speed things up.”

I inclined my head. “Is it enough?” 

Uhthoon squinted at a Laka on an omni-call, still with an eye on us. “Perhaps. Will you be around tomorrow for the handover, should we need you?”

I paused before speaking. “It is my day off.” Uhthoon wiggled his mouth in reply, waiting for the affirmative. “Yes, you can call me.”

“Pleasant approval: excellent, Detective. Thank you for your help; I will make sure your hours here are compensated. Do you require a lift back to Zakera?”

The question was loaded. At least to me it was, accepting a favour always came with something in C-Sec. “I can use the trams again. It is no trouble.”

“Amused observation: the trams are always trouble, my skycar is quicker. Tired resignation: I live on the 26th floor of Zakera. My shift ended three hours ago, Detective Berius can handle the custody forms.”

A shared journey with my superior officer wasn’t exactly tempting, but the shorter trip to my apartment was. “Then we have a deal,” I said. 

Apparently I was in the mood to make them.


	7. Fish Dumplings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter is the reason for the mature rating.

The arrest and handover of Soval Lukiad was left in the hands of the working detectives of Precinct 14.

Lukiad had murdered his friend over a personal loan, exactly twenty thousand credits worth of cash. It was a six month wage for a mine worker, but the cost of life for his victim.

_-it is what I am only good at,’ Father said, looking at me. I knew his wetwork had put food on the table, so did he. ‘The world is a dark place, Kolyat. Some deserved it-_

The walk to the skycar was a slow amble thanks to DI Uhthoon, parked as he was away from his precinct. Both of us to escape unscathed from the weight of paperwork, at least- a small miracle, even for overtime.

His vehicle was larger than most, made as it was for elcor limbs. I saw what suspiciously looked like a cuddly toy lying on its side through the window, an empty space left for a child’s seat.

I felt like I needed one once I sat myself in the front sitting in the front. My own feet dangled off the edge, barely centimetres off the floor. “With great relief: I am glad that is over,” DI Uhthoon said, settling into his side of the driver’s seat carefully. Everything took a little bit longer with elcor, even if we were in a hurry to leave. “Homeward bound, Detective Krios?”

“If you wouldn't mind.”

It was an odd feeling, going back to my apartment with another person there. Fish didn’t count, all things considered; while my recalcitrant cat was _almost_ a welcome sight after a long shift, it wasn’t as if she could hold up her end of a conversation.

I wanted the day to be over. I’ve had days drenched in the blood and decay of multiple homicide investigations, but this particular shift had overstayed its welcome.

Sometimes the reminder of a drell’s place in the universe made everything I did seem inconsequential, a constant battering of tide eroding layers of stone: of the impending Kepral’s; the Compact; our scarcity.

What could I do? I was one person, just a drell with a detective badge. All I wanted to do was go home and sink into the softness of-

_-Ori felt too good, all winding limbs and open mouth and tight warmth that-_

-of my bed.

Not that, not yet. I would not disturb her, anyway. She was always so quiet in her sleep, never moving from her side. Maybe she’d be awake when I got in, we could-

“Casual indifference: I hope the traffic behaves.”

“Of course.”

I cleared my throat, acutely aware of the fact I was sharing a locked skycar with an elcor. They could smell the shifting of pheromones of most species; perhaps softer memories of my alien girlfriend was not the smartest of things to indulge in.

Instead I let the monotonous background hum of the journey take over, focusing on the mundane of tomorrow: there was laundry to do; the cat litter tray to clean out; new board game rules to learn, just so Ori could-

_-she moved now, her warm breasts against the scales of my-_

No. What I needed was a distraction. What I needed was-

-_T’Lori scowled. Too hot,’ he said, scratching under the tight band of his chest. He smelled his fingers after, waving them my way as if I was interested in doing the same. ‘Workouts make me sweat like a-_

I truly hated my mind sometimes. Uhthoon politely tapped the dashboard to my relief, a focus on the here and now. “Honest aside: good work with the interview.”

I inclined my head to let the pleasantry pass. “I did nothing.”

There was a pause as Uhthoon thought my reply over, eyes on the looming skyline. “Gentle persuasion: you brought us time. You made him talk, where my team had failed. It was good work, Detective.”

“Thank you,” I replied, though not sure I believed him.

We sat in silence until we reached the jagged remains of the Presidium, the blue light of the Widow’s sun reflected in the scaffolding. “Rumination: it will take three more years until the main circle is fixed.”

Uhthoon’s large fists moved from the haptic interface, the auto-pilot set so he could look out the window with me. We both were compelled to stare at the ruins, hovering as we were above the broken image of our Citadel. The Presidium changeover was always a pensive stopping point, a snapshot of war from a skycar window.

“Three seems optimistic. I've lived here too long to believe in the end of construction.”

The infrastructure was still a shattered mess, broken buildings patched over with hasty scaffolding. Here is where warships blotted out the sky; here was where Reapers crashed into the Ward arms, broken from something; here was where-

_-all I could see was red, the light of a beam from the centre of the Citadel. The Presidium, what-_

“Observation: you don’t have to do everything.”

They were quiet words softly spoken, a confused contrast to the memory. “Sir?”

“Nostalgic waxing: there are only two elcor with a badge in C-Sec. Three, if you include Dr. Wefeaan in the labs. When I started, I was the only one. I took every case they sent me on, even unpaid. Belated regrets: it took me a decade to learn the word no.”

I shifted in my seat, I knew where this was going. “I am the only drell.”

Uhthoon looked me over before speaking again. “Obvious statement: yes, you are. This is your home. Do you enjoy the work?”

An elcor made the rank of DI for a reason. He was as far away from the remains of Dekuuna as I was of Kahje; we both had our reasons to be here, to be the minority. “It suits me. I like being a detective.”

It was all he was going to get. “Suspicious noise: _hmm_.”

“I could have said no to you.” My tone was sharper then I liked it to be, so I added a: “sir,” just in case.

A chuff of air that sounded like a sneeze came from Uhthoon, an elcor’s laugh. “Rueful amusement: I assumed you would say that, Detective. With optimism: the DNA we found is enough to process Lukiad without you, but I’ll keep you on call just in case.”

The flow of traffic bend up and over the Presidium, and the familiar sights of Zakera called us home. It was a neon embrace as welcome as a lover’s sigh; our Ward was the least broken from the war, despite it all.

My chest filled with the odd warmth of something. Zakera had survived, by some twist of fate. No Reapers could take her, she was still here. “You can drop me off at the Mid Ward intersection, I live close by.”

Uhthoon nodded once. “In agreement: this suits me, Detective Krios. With genuine enthusiasm: I hope we can work together soon, I shall remember your smell. Season’s fragrance upon you.”

My superior officer had just told me he would keep an eye on me and wished me a good day, not that it was still day for me. I knew enough about his custom to return the gestures with a touch of my nose, especially since I wasn’t born with mouth flaps to wiggle. “And to you,” I said, tapping the roof of his skycar before I left. “Have a good sleep cycle, sir.”

I took a shortcut through an abandoned keeper tunnel to reach my complex, the walls stinking of the usual piss and garbage. My apartment was a welcome sight after my overtime, even if it was silent in the dark.

Ori had left the kitchen light on low on for me, once my eyes adjusted to the darkness. A guide in the gloom, just enough to see Fish staring from the couch. She looked up from her throne to yawn, and I risked an acceptable amount of head pats before she issued a warning rumble.

“Ever your lackey,” I told her, a hand to my chest. I got the hint and left her alone to brush my teeth.

Bed was temptingly close. I stripped off my clothes with all the complicit silence of a Compact servant in the dark, Ori curled under covers away from me. I still managed to wake her, despite my care; the noise of putting my sidearm into the safe was loud enough, even though I was careful.

The entire day was intent on proving what a terrible drell I really was, even in the comfort of my own home. “Hey.” She rolled over to face me, drowsy from sleep. Ori’s eyes were half open, my own finally adjusting to the dark to see her. “Back now?”

“Home for the night. Go back to sleep, it’s late,” I said. I touched the softness of her cheek uncovered by her hair, smiling as she nuzzled the palm of my hand in return.

There was always something about your own bed, not that I got the chance to sleep in it much. Ori moved closer to face me as I settled into my pillow, quietly laughing at the sighs of relief I had sinking into it. “That bad?”

I rolled over to mirror her pose, finally tucking the messy hair back over her ear. “Interviewed a murderer. He’ll be processed tomorrow.”

The severity of my words made her sit up. “Well.”

I shrugged. As working days go it was meant to be a win, despite the feeling I had lost something. “At least I don’t have to do the paperwork. Most of the paperwork, anyway.”

-_Laka’s hand was on my wrist before I could move away, a mother’s firm grip. ‘I suggest you remove that,’ I said-_

The memory passed us in silence. “Did you speak to a Sera Laka at your gala last night?” I asked. “She mentioned you.”

Ori frowned. “Sarah or _sera_?” The latter she rolled the vowels of the word, her attempt at my language.

“Sera Laka,” I said, correcting it. “A drell woman, older than me. Green scales, orange frill.”

“The only drell there, yes. Barely beyond a hello, really. Why?” Ori’s confusion was enough for me.

_-Laka looked smug, her pinched features smiling at her fortune. “Of course. She mentioned that I could talk to you about_-

“Nothing much of anything,” I replied. “She was at the precinct, works as an advocate for our kind. Mentioned the gala last night, wondered if she was telling the truth. Did you talk about anything?”

A frown pinched her brow as she remembered; I smoothed it out with my thumb gently. “She said she recognised me from the Kepral’s benefit we went to a few months ago,” Ori said, holding my questing hand in hers. “But that’s it.”

“Interesting.” I did not think she was lying. Laka had bent her version of the truth to keep me from walking away from her in the precinct, but if she really knew what Ori was to me, why did she feel the need to embellish the story? My relationship was something I kept quiet about for a reason, not even my team knew.

But I didn’t exactly make an effort in hiding it, even out on the Wards. Let them see Ori with me, what did it matter?

_-either we’re a seat at the table, or we’re food-_

Perhaps the she-hag had a point, that her particular brand of politics were needed for our survival. A creature of the Depths could survive the roughest of tides, after all.

Especially if they were the ones making waves in the first place.

My chin was poked to get my attention, and I looked into the suspicious face of my girlfriend. “What did this Laka do to you? You don’t sound entirely enthused, but I find it takes a lot for you to be impressed by anything.”

“She’s a lawyer.” Her little _ah hah_ made me smile in response. “I thought I was hard to please anyway, you keep on saying I am.”

“Not always.” A gentle kiss was placed on the hand she held before she let it go, settling back onto the pillow on her side. I had brought extra for her since we started seeing each other, apparently Ori needed a mound of them to sleep at night. I hated the excess on my bed, but for her I suffered through. “You’re especially easy on occasion,” she said.

“Really?” The faint outline of her profile illuminated by the dim light of the apartment, and I wanted her. She was right there in front of me, just in reach. “You’ll have to teach me the difference.”

The shirt she wore to bed had twisted around her neck, the dent of her collarbone on show. It was only an excuse to touch, and I neatened the rumpled edge of her collar, my fingers lingering in the dip of her clavicle.

“You can work it out,” she said. Ori’s laughter stilled my hands, but I pulled her into my arms before she moved away.

“If you say so, _orishen_.”

I kissed her before she could reply, a thigh pressed between her legs. This was what I thought we were doing before I left, had C-Sec left us alone for the night.

The pair of us managed to pick up where we left off, even if it felt softer than the memory. We took our time kissing, just for the joy of it, just because we could. “You missed me,” she said, my mouth back on hers.

It was an obvious statement, not a question. Ori pulled away to gasp beneath me, writhing against the weight of my leg. I got the hint and helped her out of her clothing, shirt thrown at the end of the bed.

Her thighs parted with a sigh when my fingers retraced their steps, just like they did before we were rudely interrupted by work. She was already wet, to my surprise. Did she touch herself alone in my bed without me? Did she think of us together? Was it like this, arched back, gripped sheets, eyes closed?

-I _had no idea what to do, she was my first human. ‘Here,’ Ori said, pulling my hand to the warmth of her-_

She was never passive for long, not for anything. Ori’s mouth sucked at the lines of my throat, impatiently shoving the covers off of us. “Why did you stop?”

I smiled as she tugged my hands back to where she wanted them. “You’re very wet,” I told her. “Did you know?”

Even in the dark I could see I said the wrong thing at the wrong time. “Oh, _very_?”

“It’s a compliment.”

One that backfired, obviously. “To what, your ego?”

If Ori was drell, implied wetness was high praise. At least, I think it was. It’s not as if my record was brilliant _there_, either.

I had no desire to sour the mood. Instead I kissed her as an apology. “I didn’t mean it that way,” I said, my lips against hers. “You taste of the sea, a good thing.”

Ori leaned on her elbows to peer down at me, just to make sure I saw her. “I taste like the figurative death of your people.”

It was technically a limbo, not that this was the time to correct her. “Sex and religion is a potent combination,” I replied, this time a kiss placed on the dip of her collarbone. “Our species have an overlap.”

Ori rolled her eyes. “If I wasn't before, I’m completely soaked now,” she said, but was soon distracted by what my mouth was doing between her legs.

“I can take the burden of guilt for us both.” I murmured the words against her thighs, smiling at her annoyed grunt. “I will carry our sins across the ocean. I am but an empty vessel, ready to be-”

I had gone too far. Ori made another human noise of frustration, the nearest pillow shoved over my head. “You deserve this,” she replied, leaning down on it. “You pushed me over the edge.”

All it did was tickle, to both our amusement; even if she was serious, it took a lot to smother a drell. “That’s the point, I thought,” I said, batting her hands away. “A fall into oblivion.”

My quiet laughter made her grumble, not that she meant it. I kissed her stomach in apology, pale arms loose around my shoulders, attempt at murder forgotten.

_-the curves of your thighs are like the strongest temple columns, the handiwork of a master. Our union is blessed, Arashu’s temple is open to the devout. Fill your vessels with her life bringing Waters and-_

“-taste her bounty,” I said, finishing the last of the scripture out loud. Ori was on her back again, my fingers curled into her wetness.

“I can still smother you, you know,” she said, an arm flung over her eyes.

“Not yet.” I deliberately used my middle finger; the sudden motion trapped my hand between her thighs, Ori gasping at the tighter feel.

The words were trite to say out loud, but watching her like this was enough. Perhaps she was right, it was ego. Whatever the reason, she never complained about my compulsion, to see her a mewling mess from my hands, my tongue, my lips. I wanted her to come over and over, just _because_. Because I could. Because Ori wanted me to.

“_Kolyat_.” My name was a sigh now, halfway between desperate and demanding.

“Yes?” I smiled against the mound of her breast.

When she hummed her reply, I knew it wouldn’t take much more. As Ori came, her body was as still as the Depths, a poised statue of agony. It took one long breath until she broke, a pulsing relief even I felt to the tips of my fingers.

I pulled away from her slowly, dampness wiped clean on discarded clothes. A gentle kiss was placed on her brow, but I was unsure what she wanted to do next; it was late for us both, after all.

She had an idea. I tried to lift the covers to keep us warm, but it was my turn to be gently pushed back into the pillows. “We don’t have to do-” I started to say, but was silenced by her wandering hands.

“There it is.” Her lips found mine as she stroked, slow and languid in their motion. “You say it every time,” Ori murmured. “You get me off, you do that smug little smile of yours, then you say: ‘we don’t have to do anything else,’ even though you’re so very desperate to.”

“It’s not an obligation.”

“I know.” She proved her point with a firmer stroke, to my relief.

We both heard the answering thrum in my chest. “_Ori-_”

“No, fair’s fair. Your turn to suffer.”

Not everything in the universe had to be questioned, but somehow I still managed. “You don’t have to,” I said again, my voice lower than usual.

I would be lying if I said I wanted her to stop. Ori had come undone from my fingers-

_-a poised statue of-_

It was enough. There was a reason I took the medication needed to dull the venom on my scales; She told me that without it, all she saw was a minor change of the light, some forgotten melody heard at the back of her mind. Even if Ori liked the distraction, it always bothered me. Undivided attention was rare even from lovers, but it didn’t stop me from trying.

“Ah hah.” She said the words like a discovery, a bite at the curve of my throat after. “What do you think I want?”

“You tell me.” If I knew the constant answer to that, I was fairly certain I would know the answer to the universe.

I needed more than her hands, and she knew it too. Her strokes kept me just on the edge of pleasure, a deliberate stalling. “But we don’t have to do anything, you said.” A harder suck was placed at the lines of my throat. “Right?”

“No, _Gods_-”

“No?” Ori was still painfully slow, and she knew it too. The rhythm was still a torturous edge into madness, one I wanted to take into my own hands to end. “No to what?”

I had enough.

_“Ori.”_ My frustration won out. I framed her face with my hands, thumbs tilting her jaw. “You tell me you want me. I want you.”

Her small little smile was my undoing. I kissed her before she could speak again; her tongue in my mouth told me she planned this, I never stood a chance.

She gasped as I retaliated, a hand on her breast. “Use your words, I know you can,” I said.

We all wanted to be wanted. Ori shifted until I was between her open thighs, soft lips at the lines of my ear. “Like this.”

It was enough for me. Ori had yet to move, to push me over and take control as she always did. Instead I cupped her face again, gentle this time. I didn’t know what to say, that even if I could find the right words, the moment would shatter from my fumbled attempts of a meaning.

So I kissed her again. A mouth like mine but not, a softer touch. It was my turn to find the breaking point, and I did. “Just fuck me,” she said, until I left her breathless.

It was a demand quietly spoken. I could curse the Gods until the Depths ran dry, even blaspheme the angels that protected them. It was expected of me, just Kolyat and his sharpened tongue again.

When she did it and I paid attention.

Despite my long day or in spite of it, I still rose to my knees and did what she asked me to do. By a quirk of the universe we fit well together, difference be damned.

Her sigh was enough. Neither of us were gentle now, too far gone for anything else; ours was the kind of fucking that rocked the bed loud enough for the frame to protest, even though it was bolted to the wall. I used it for leverage now, holding onto the edge thrust deeper.

Ori’s hair was thrown across her pillow, face lost in the hunt of pleasure. _Amonkira guide you_, I thought. I tried to calm us down with a gentler position, but was soon pulled back down, nails holding me in place.

“No, close-” I did what I was told, a sharp keening cry at the find.

When she comes it downs us both. Ori laughed, somehow. A reverberation that felt like the entire fucking centre of my universe- if only for a precious moment. Ah, _fuck_. Gods fucking damn, this was too much, too-

I crumbled like sand in her arms. She held me in the cradle of her body after, washed away by the tide. I felt the humming before I heard it, a simple melody under her breath. Ori ran her hands down the scale of my back in the silence, a quiet accompaniment to the song.

“I don’t know what was so funny,” she said, a drowsing cheek against my fins.

My brain processed the why, but my mouth couldn’t manage the words to tell her. It was a beautiful reaction, I wanted to say. You laughed from the joy of it, just because you could. A reminder of living, in a moment; just you and me alone in the dark, a spark of something.

All I managed to say was: “_hnngh._”

Ori laughed again, mostly at me. “Oh, I’m sorry. What was that?”

I sighed, a long sound. “It’s been a trying day.” The words were muffled in the dent on her collarbone. She tasted salty-sweet; I thought she was meant to be intoxicated from my skin, not the other way around.

“Poor thing.” Ori nudged her legs against mine to free herself, pokes from her nails soon after when I was too slow for her liking. “Did I break you? I do that a lot.”

“No.” I had enough energy to roll to the side. My eyes were on her, sharp, questing hands in mine to stop the damage.

“No, what?”

Words were still heavy in my mouth. A strand of hair stubbornly refused to go over the strange shell of her ear when I tried; I could never get it free the spikes of the pearls, no matter how careful I was. “I’m glad you’re here,” I told her, a finger tracing the sharp line of her jaw.

Her smile was bright enough in the gloom. “Good. You better be.” Ori mirrored my movements, a gentle tap to my chin. “There are other places I could have gone.”

“If you say so.” Her chin tapping continued, for some reason. “Why are you doing that?”

“Easy target. So very huge, you know.”

The resulting sigh I made was dramatic even to my ears, but it made her laugh again. “Thank you, my mother gave it to me,” I said.

_-that’s a Krios chin, my love,’ Mami said, my face in her palm. I put up with the fuss as I knew juice and biscuits were soon coming. ‘You can’t escape who you are-_

“I’ve always liked it,” Ori told me, a small smile on her face. “It's distinguished.” Genetics and inheritance was a touchy subject for her, even if we were talking about mine.

I held her poking hands to my chest again to keep them out of trouble. “I kept on thinking on the way back home that you were here,” I said, squeezing them in mine. “I had something in the apartment that wasn’t silence and the cat, I had you.”

I had surprised her with my honesty, but I wish I didn’t. Ori freed herself from my hold, unsure what to reply. “Well. Good to know I best the cat at warming your bed.”

The intent of my words were lost in a sea of failed translations. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

_You mean a great deal to me_. That’s all, that’s what I should say. It was the truth, after all. I was unsure why my throat was hurting at the thought of saying it, but Ori filled the silence before I even could.

“I know what you meant,” she said.

“You do?”

“Of course I do.” She looked at me on the edge of explaining why, but it seemed Ori was as inept as me in her fumbling. It was late, after all.

For once, words were hard for us both. “Well. Good.”

The unsaid had already fallen into oblivion; Ori tapped my shoulder, ignoring the stumble as I had. “I need the bathroom,” she said, sitting up. “Move for me.”

I helped her climb out of the bed; her side was against the wall, and it was always an exercise of callisthenics to get her over me when I was in it. “Don’t use all the water,” I told her.

In the silence I was left alone in the dark, the weight of the moment stuck to my chest. I was too tired to think of nothing more strenuous than finding my underwear and straightening the sheets; the wet patch was on my side this time, blotchy evidence to sleep around.

Ori clambering back into bed jolted me awake again, surprised I had drowsed. “Did you shower?” I asked, eyes still closed.

“A quick one, it’s fine.” I cupped the softness of her ass as Ori rolled over me; just to help, you understand.

She was damp to the touch. My own shower would be cold tomorrow, I knew it. Ori smelled of soap and salarian toothpaste, and a lingering thought crossed my mind. “I was at the plaza earlier,” I said, the words heavy in my mouth. “The salarian one you like.”

Ori blinked slowly in confusion. “Oh?”

“In Kithoi, that’s where I was sent to. No time to bring you back fried crickets,” I said, yawning. “I’m sorry.”

“Now I want spiced _meeshans_.” Ori smiled at the thought. “I forgive you. This time.”

My chin was poked again as I yawned, a human gesture she returned with a hand over her mouth. “Maybe after work, _orishen_.”

The words were mumbled into my pillow, too far gone for anything else. I heard her laughing, a gentle sound. “What does that even mean?” she said.

“I still have the day off, but we could-”

She moved closer to speak to me. “Not that, _orishen_. Is the _shen_ a separate thing to the _ori_? You've called me it a few times now.”

I knew exactly what it meant when I did. “It’s one word. _Orishen_.”

“What is it, then? Is it like darling, or sweetheart?”

“Kind of.” I refused to answer, curved around the warmth of my human space-heater to find sleep, even if she was refusing to do the same.

“But what-”

“_Oriden. Ma’tori. Tunorien. Orishen_.” I said them against the shell of her ear deliberately, just to to break her translator and silence her protests. “_Orishen, orishen, ori_.”

They were unconnected words in my mother tongue with her name in them, but _orishen_ was my favourite. It meant fish dumplings, hardly romantic. A glutinous snack sold by street vendors in Kahje, a pillow-soft whiteness poked onto sticks.

I held the fat of her breast in my hand, smiling at the connection. Ori pulled it into hers before I could squeeze, finally settling down. “I’ll find out myself, you know,” she said.

“Where is the fun in that?”

We both knew I could never fool her for long.


	8. Calm For Cats

I never remembered my dreams.

I knew it was a filter system that happened during the deepest part of sleep for most of the universe, but for drell it was a rare event. In the old days of Rakhana, only the Seers of Semarku could see visions as they slept; for most of us it was just another repetition of memory.

For once, I dreamt of Korem. When my parents left the city for the quieter dome of my mother’s childhood, she was the first friend I made. Back when it was easy to make them, when all that was needed was a: what’s your name?’ by the swing set.

We were running through the fields of automated crops, between the lines of green and yellow paths. It was a good memory; we were running for the joy of it, the way only animals and children do, just because we could.

But then the ground started to shake, and the landscape changed.

It took me a while to place the sound, confused by the intrusion. A Reaper had landed in the neat little squares of green of Enkindler’s Basket; I knew it would only take one ship to wipe out the dome, that was enough. I knew the damage they could do.

I don’t remember the child version of myself being scared of it, only fascinated. I watched it land with my hand still in Korem’s; she always led the way, even in my dreams. _Get out_, I wanted to tell them. _Run faster._ _Do not look back._

The quaking of the ground got worse, enough to shake me awake. The sounds of a Reaper ship still lingered in my memory, just like the ones I saw when-

_-it was a tick on the back of the Citadel, Teyseri pulled apart as-_

I was out of the bed before I knew what I was doing, heart beating in my throat frills. Once the adrenaline wore off, I knew where I was. My fingers had unlocked my gun case even half-asleep, but I took a breath to right myself, a pinch to my brow.

It was just construction noise.

I knew what it was, even with a gun in my hand. Not the second coming of the apocalypse, but I checked the windows anyway. Giant metal cranes worked opposite my apartment complex, a mess of noise and light.

A text message jammed the vid-signal of my screen when I switched it on:_ scheduled construction will run from the 4th to the 7th hour, Standard Citadel Time. Please do not be alarmed if you hear loud noises, we will be operating heavy machinery and controlled explosions during this time._

I had no idea it would be this dramatic. I still exercised my C-Sec authority and checked the local radios, just in case the sounds masked something else. The only thing closest to me was a welfare check and a parole violation, nothing connected to the thrice-fucked mess outside my apartment.

I was glad I no longer had a beat to patrol. I had a feeling there would be panic from the public all the same, there always was. Instead I looked for my cat, no sign of her in the main room. Fish had disappeared like a Compact trained assassin at the noise, but it was hard to explain to an animal that it wasn’t the Reapers.

There was only so many places to hide. I went back to the bedroom to another shake of the building, hoping one of us managed to sleep through the fuss and the noise.

Ori didn’t, of course. She sat up in bed, a dark silhouette cast in shadow. “It’s the thrice-fucked building works,” I said, jamming the gun back into the safe. “Have you seen the cat-”

It was the strange, heaved rise of her chest that stopped me in my tracks. Ori sat stock-still with had her hands around her throat, staring at nothing but the wall opposite the bed.

I touched her shoulder once, and she finally looked my way, startled by the touch. “Did you say something?”

My instinct was to hold her, so I did. I sat on the bed to pull her into my arms, but Ori flinched away just enough for me to get the hint and leave her alone.

“It’s just the construction,” I said.

All I could see was her profile when I moved away, a strange blossom of red across the dip of her throat where her frill would start if she was drell. I didn’t know if it was a souvenir from our time together, or the rising sea of her anxiety.

Ori rested her head on her knees, hands free of her throat. I watched as she stared at nothing again, the rumpled bed between us. “I knew it was coming this week, I’m sorry,” I said. ”I thought it wouldn’t be like this.”

“Okay.” It was all she would say to me.

There was only so much I could do if she refused to talk. Fish was still missing, but a pitiful yowl came from the darkness under the bed, to my relief. “My poor girl,” I told the cat, though I could have told Ori the same.

“Is she hurt?” Ori gripped herself at the elbows, little half-moon divots forming from the stress of her nails. She asked the question in such a polite way, as if she was oblivious to the Gods damn stress that radiated from her, the cat, the _noise_.

“I don’t think so. I need to calm her down before I can check,” I replied, biting my tongue. “The building works is scheduled until our breakfast time, will you be okay? The email said-”

“I’m _fine_.” Ori had said it loud enough for the words to bounce off the walls. “I need the bathroom.”

I moved out of the way to let her pass me, barely a backwards glance to where I was. Ori was far from fine, but at least I could deal with the cat.

Fish bolted the bedroom when I left it, the fastest I’d seen her move in a while. I knew she was behind the couch, another safe spot for her; instead I made a show of finding her treats, rattling the bag as loudly as I could.

On a whim I pulled my leather jacket from the hook by the door and placed it on the cushions, loading up a specifically bland vid to mask over the noise. “I wonder who will eat these Friski chows,” I said, to a suspiciously empty room.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a smudge of grey fur hovering by the couch. Nothing would make Fish come when called, but she would sell her own soul for food. All I could do was open and reopen the packet over and over while she slinked her way closer to my legs, trying to keep my fucking impatience from exploding outwards and scaring her off.

As I kept on shaking the treat bag, I could hear Ori mumble to herself in the bathroom, even through the buzz of construction. It was a gentle repetition of something: “soap, tiles, toothpaste, mascara.”

_Soap, tiles, toothpaste, mascara. _My hearing was more acute than hers; Ori said the words over and over, a litany said with the calm monotony of prayer.

A solid chunk of weight jumping on the couch made me look away. Eventually the lure of treats was enough to calm Fish, and I fed her broken off chunks of a foul jerky she loved as she sat on my jacket, hyperfocused on her meal.

I risked the scales of my hand to check her over, relieved she was fine. Fish was mostly impatient at the speed she had received her tidbits, annoyed I had touched her. A paw hit my wrist with a smack as I pulled away, ears pinned back at the lack of food.

I knew things were normal for Fish if she was eating and biting again, but Ori was another story. Her bathroom monologue had stopped, but she was still locked away from sight.

“Are you all right in there?” I asked, just outside of it.

“I’m fine, I’ll be out soon.”

The door eventually slid open in a smooth hiss. She had stolen my dark blue robe to wear, wrapped tight to her neck.

She looked dwarfed in it. “Feeling better?”

The question was ignored. “What are you playing?” she said, bemused at the sound coming from the vidscreen.

We both knew it was trash. The screensaver was a rotating garbage unit of dull landscapes and gormless cats, all set to music. It was twenty seven hours of hell from start to finish, but at least it was free.

I tried to hold her hand, but Ori walked away. I was so very tired of the deflection, and stared at the ceiling before I spoke again. “It’s not for us.”

“You’re playing it for Fish?”

“It’s called _27 Hours Of Calm For Cats, _I found it on the extranet.”

The absurdity of its existence was enough to wipe the frown off her face. “And it works?”

A curled up Fish was my answer, only slightly grumpy the food train had stopped. “I know it’s garbage, but yes. It does.”

As if on cue the static image of the vid changed itself, this time to a gormless white kitten in a basket, light years away from the real thing scowling on the couch. Ori’s face matched the sour mood of my cat, and if I had a night ’s sleep I would have laughed. “Sounds like something programmed by VIs for elevators,” she said.

I chuffed once. Fish twitched her tail at the noise, and I took the hint and lowered my voice. “It stays on for the rest of the sleep cycle.”

I did not apologise. _You will deal with it_, was what I almost said. I knew music was important to Ori, but one stressed out female in my apartment was bad enough to cope with.

Two was a fucking temple riot. I risked a scratch behind Fish’s ears, biting my tongue at the moment. Ori ignored us both to sit on the floor, tucking her feet under the excess length of my blue robe to cover them.

I waited for her to explain something about her isolation, _anything; _instead, I was treated to a wall of silence, her usual cold shoulder when stressed. “Do you need a blanket?” I asked her.

It was an innocent enough question, but it still got me a wooden reply. “No. I’m fine,” she said, not quite looking at me.

I realised then I had given the cat the entirety of the couch to herself, a queen installed on her throne. “Are you really?” I said, sitting next to Fish.

Ori looked over her shoulders to appease me, but I knew the smile was plastered on. “Of course. Hard to tell a cat it’s only construction, I suppose. Animals don’t understand the difference.”

Arashu fuck me sideways, I had reached my limit. What they both needed was Gods damn rest, but I couldn’t exactly throw the pair of them over my shoulder and drag us all back to bed. “Music is a cheap fix.”

-_soap, tiles, toothpaste, mascara.’ The sound of it bounced off the tiles of the bathroom; I frowned, confused as-_

I opened my mouth once, unsure what else to say. There was no forthcoming explanation to anything from her, or why she hid herself away to mumble her words. I did not know how to fix her hurt; there was no bland music and meat jerky for Ori.

She always kept her trauma hidden, even if I knew the root cause. “I’m sorry,” she said, an eventual answer to my silent staring. “I know I’ve been weird. I had a bad dream, that’s all.”

If her career in colony development went bad, I always thought she would Gods damn excel in politics.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Oh, just the usual.” Humans did not experience dreaming like drell. Our nightmares were a pragmatic recollection of memories patched together, often in odd ways. Ori described hers as a private horror vid, too abstract for reality; her mind wove imaginary monsters into her thoughts, even though there were monsters there to begin with.

“Was it Sanctuary again?”

It was the wrong question to ask. Ori turned around again, her spine snapped tight. “It was nothing much of anything, really. Dreams never make sense, do they?”

_-Lawson tried to keep me away from the processing camps.’ I held her hand as she spoke. ‘I still saw them. Sometimes I heard crying, but I think I imagined it. They walked to their deaths in silence, the indoctrination was-_

One of these days I would cut myself on her sharpness and react, but for now I bled without complaint. “Do you want tea?”

“No.” A pause, and she tried to smile again. “Not right now.”

The background to the vid changed to an orange version of my cat, though one without her permanent scowl. “The building noise is going to go on for three more hours,” I said, risking another scratch behind the twitching ears of Fish. “I’ll leave the music on low until breakfast, construction will be over by then.”

“That’s fine.” Ori frowned at the screen, barely looking my way. “Can you change this part, though? It’s truly awful, I feel like we’re waiting for something. Sounds like hold music for the tax office.”

It was all the same to my ears, but I skipped forward an hour to appease her. “I’m usually asleep at this point.”

Ori moved her head to work out the new piece of music, a universal motion of hearing. “Oh. This is Debussy,” she said, surprised at something. “But a weird elevator version, sounds tinny.”

“I don’t know what that means.” I paused, unsure what to say. Music was her God, not mine. “Is that a good thing?”

Ori did not mock me for my ignorance. Instead she turned her head to face me, limbs as tightly coiled as my sleeping cat. “I listen to this every so often, it was Papa’s favourite. I have better recordings, though. I’ll show Fish tomorrow, she has taste. I’ve always wanted to learn how to play it.”

Her brief smile was a small victory. “I’ll bet half my wage she’ll ignore it out of spite.”

The building vibrated again. We both looked at the rattling windows, the vague suspicion only the cat would sleep well tonight.

“What are they even working on?” Ori asked, once the drilling had stopped.

“Pulling down the remains of the empty buildings. A databank centre is coming soon, or so I’m told.” Watching it grow had become a part of my morning ritual before work this week, a cup of tea by the window to see the constant change of the horizon.

I opened the blinds with a swipe to show her, even though Ori was familiar with the view. Temporary orange lights were tacked onto the side of the scaffolding like gaudy festival decorations, spilling across the floor of my apartment in warped lines.

We both stood by that window to watch; I risked another hold her hand, just in range of mine. “It always seems louder on the outside. I never notice when I’m on my own site,” she said, squeezing mine in return. “Too focused on the job.”

“You always notice things more when you’re outside looking in.”

Another half-smile, even if her eyes were pinched in tiredness. “That was almost profound of you.”

“I have my moments.” It was my turn to scowl, tired of the mess. “I don’t even know why they’re building the Gods damn thing anyway. Storage seems a waste, it used to be a food hall you know. Infinitely more useful.”

Ori nudged me once with her shoulder. “Everything that exists in the universe must be personally useful to Kolyat Krios, I’ll make a note.”

If she was back to teasing me, then it was a good sign. “Fish would be out of a home, if that was the order of things,” I replied, moving my hand to the small of her back. “And it’s not.”

“Poor Fish,” Ori replied, yawning now. “But I think I can manage her schedule of furious napping and eating you know, sounds a tempting change of career.”

“You can barely watch a vid without fidgeting, I think not.” At her human snort of amusement, I held her. “But you can try.”

My lips found her forehead as she turned to me. It was the place where her shield of Arashu would be if she had one, the mark of the God that sparked her soul. Ori made a sound very much like a sob; I held her tighter as the pair of us stood still, the sound of our silence drowned out by the noise and light of the Citadel.

“It’s just construction,” she said, head against my shoulder. Ori turned away to wipe her eyes, refusing to show me they were wet. “I’m fine now.”

I allowed her the lie. “I know.” I gave her a moment to right herself, pulling down the blinds with a click. In the darkness I offered my hand for her to take again, just in sight of her face. “Bed, I think.”

“What’s in it for me?” Ori looked at me before taking it, a pretence at defiance.

“Your memory isn’t that fragile, Ori.”

I pulled us towards the sanctity of the bedroom, rumpled covers cool from our absence. _Calm for Cats_ played on in the other room, not that it mattered to us.

Ori stared at a fixed point on the ceiling, wide awake and lost in her thoughts again. “Why are you still standing there?” she asked.

“Because I need another girl in my bed. Be back in a moment.” I pulled the sheet to her shoulder, to her eye roll.

It was a terrible joke, but Ori got the meaning. I had all the intentions of banning the cat from the bedroom when I first got her, something Fish ignored as soon as she worked out how the door opened. Instead I hauled a grumbling cat off the couch to share our bed, this time an old workout shirt used for her blanket, finally settling under the covers to keep watch over both Fish and my girlfriend.

Sleep wasn't going to happen, not now. I was especially glad tomorrow was a day off, and hoped the population of the Citadel behaved itself so I could rest.

_Probably not_. The vibrated with another shake from the building works. “Did you know,”I said, after watching Ori bite the skin around her nails, “that I wanted to work in construction as a child?”

The opener was enough to spark her curiosity and leave her poor nails alone. “Like an engineer?”

“No, not as smart as you. I just wanted to play with the machines, that’s all.”

She moved closer, fingers finding the point of my throat frill. “I've known since I was twelve, that's what I wanted,” Ori said, trailing along the edge with a fingertip. “Changed every week before. Ballet dancer, Spectre, doctor.”

Her forehead grazed mine in the dark. I lifted my chin so we could fit together, her hair tickling my scales. “You love your job,” I said. It was a statement of a fact for Ori, not a question. My engineer in her party dress, always walking the line between funding projects and building them. “It suits you.”

A genuine smile was my answer, a gleam of white teeth in the gloom. “Was it just the machines that did it for you, or was it the buildings too? There's a word for that, you know.”

Ori was better if the sass was back. “You somehow managed to make an innocent childhood fixation of mine dirty, congratulations.”

“You’re the one with the dirty mind, I was just curious.”

I pinched her ass in retaliation, somewhat slippery from the stolen robe she wore. “I just liked digging machines and making a mess, like children do. I have no interest in it now, other than, you know.” I gestured vaguely at the noise outside, the construction still raging on.

Even Fish paused her grooming to glare at it, the drills a choral backup to my point. “Just a phase, then?” Ori asked, her head on my shoulder.

I traced the lines with of her frown with a fingertip. “You sound so disappointed. The novelty wore off when I had to study at school, I disliked science class a great deal.”

At my reply her frown deepened. “Bad teacher or bad student? Curiosity at how things work should never be taken away from children.”

_-if you do not sit down and pay attention right this minute Sere Krios, I will exclude you from-_

On Kahje it was. All drell are born knowing the place, at least. It is a great honour to serve, after all.

“Perhaps both. I thought some kind of trade would be my job after school was over,” I said, shifting the blankets up to my frill. “The domes always need work.”

“Of course, they’re under a lot of strain.” Something sparked in Ori’s eyes, even in the dark; she wanted to share something she knew. “Kahje’s environmental systems are interesting, especially the wave breakers. You need a degree even to operate them, did you know? The Illuminated Primacy are reluctant to share blueprints with the rest of us, for some reason or other.”

Because it was easier to keep drell in one place, but I was too tired for Compact politics now. Especially after last night’s overflow, an inescapable pull of the tide.

“Sounds like I needed college after all,” I said, changing the subject. She was wrong, not that I would tell her. I knew the inner domes hired anyone for housing construction, even on Kahje. “Amonkira laughs at my aim, as usual.”

_-the gun was heavier than I thought. I played the datapad it came with, startled by the voice of my Father: ‘It is 2179. It is your name day, Kolyat. I know at this precise moment you are sleeping on my side of the bed with your mother. It occurs to me that there will come a time when I will be gone, and-_

You don’t need a diploma to kill people either, not that it mattered. Father’s special care package changed my vague career plans as a teenager, construction be damned.

Ori tugged my fin to get my attention. Apparently it was my turn to stare at nothing, and I turned to face her again. “Degrees don’t show much of anything,” she said. “You’re still one of the smartest people I know.”

I chuffed in response, despite her good intentions. “You are clearly biased.”

“Don’t put yourself down, please.” Ori assumed my lack of education was some deep rooted issue I ignored, but I thought that said more about her than it did me.

“I'm not.” I was too tired to protest anything else. I closed my eyes, content to let her curl into me. Ori was a dangerous comfort to have so close when I was fighting sleep, but I resisted the pull long enough to stay awake.

“I’ve been in rooms with people who built the Crucible, and worked with engineers who helped switch the Relays back on,” she said. “All these scientists and geniuses, big minds of the galaxy. Some of them have the emotional intelligence of vat slime, you know. Common sense is not so common, it’s surprising.”

It was interesting she excluded herself from them, even if she rehomed the galaxy for a living. “Sounds like my precinct,” I said. Bats and Patel even had specific rules written in the canteen due to their latest act of idiocy. A sign of: _please do not use our cutlery for sport _existed because of them.

Apparently my replies were still frustrating, as Ori lectured again. “I know C-Sec means something to you, but smart is just professionally curious. Which is what you are, Officer Krios.”

“If you say so. And it’s Detective Krios, thank you.”

Ori tapped my chest once, right where the shield of my stab vest would be. I cracked my lids open just enough to stare at her, a very serious pair of blue eyes blinking in return. “I know. You’re not listening to me. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Taking something at face value would make me a piss-poor detective you know,” I said, amused at her reaction. “That’s not smart, that’s being a suspicious bastard.”

“_Kol_. You know what I mean.”

The words rattled, and I rubbed her shoulder in contrition. “The universe will always need detectives,” I replied. “I'm happy where I am.”

Comforting me made her forget her own problems, if only for a moment. “Well, yes. But if you change your mind and want to play with diggers, I do know some colonies hiring for construction. No questions asked.”

“Of course you do.”

Another thud shook the building, smaller than the last. I yawned despite the noise, and closed my eyes again as she ran a gentle finger over the ribbing of my cheeks, a far more enjoyable experience than her poking.

“I can’t see you with a hard hat on,” Ori said, clever fingers tracing the keel of my scales. “I think you’d get bored of the work, it’s hard.”

“Police work is dirty enough.” I used to scrub piss and graffiti from walls during my community service, and whatever manual labour odd-job Bailey insisted I do to pay my debt. I knew I could do it, the question was if I _wanted_ to.

“I meant the monotony of it. That would kill you,” she said, tapping my temple with gentle fingers. It was oddly soothing, but the moment passed when she rolled onto her back. “You don’t like everyday being the same.”

She had a point, but even I had a routine. “Father worked construction when I was small,” I said, my hands on my stomach. “He didn't like the work either.”

Ori shifted over to face me, curious at another confession. “Was that before he left?”

I shrugged, Father was always leaving. “Yes. Just something he tried.”

_Tried. _An active attempt to not kill people for a living_. _

“Mine worked as a music teacher for bored Maidens, some Nos Astra boarding school for the rich. That didn’t last long either.” Ori licked her lips, unsure what else to say. I’m sure she thought my confession meant something, but it didn’t to me.

_-did you use the crane, dada?’ I asked, tugging his hand. His scales were rough with work, dirt trapped under his nails like mine were from playing in the garden. ‘Did you use the big drill-_

My memories of him coming home were always a stark contrast to the fun my childish self thought he had away from it. There was an overwhelming sense of lethargy even a five year old could spot, of a man always tired from his day.

At first I thought it was from the building work, but I knew what it was now. Looking back as an adult, I saw a man in conflict with himself. Father felt demeaned by his job, hating the thing I always wanted to do as a child, even if it fed his family.

_-the spit on my uniform was there, even after I wiped it off. ‘Fucking pig,’ the human said, even when we got him cuffs. ‘Fucking piggy C-Sec, fuck you cop, I hate-_

No one -not even the six year old version of me obsessed with skytrucks and digging machines- would have predicted my career in law enforcement, least of all my father.

A gentle touch shook me of the memories, and I held Ori’s hand to still it. “I’ve seen you yell at Ikius furniture, you know,” she said. “I think being a detective suits you better, you get angry at basic shelf construction.”

“The instructions were appalling.” I frowned at the reminder, flicking the memories away from my thoughts like a buzzing fly. “And they sent the wrong screws.”

“No they didn’t.”

She was right, of course. Ori had taken over and put them up for me an hour later, while I went to work to deal with the fallout of a gang shooting themselves to pieces.

“Maybe I’m in the right place after all,” I told her, yawning again.

It was a gentle place to stop our pillow talk. Morning found me to more noise and vibrations, though this time I was alone. It was only the repetition of the omni-tool alarm that woke me this time, a pulsed beat on my wrist. “Thrice fucked thing, _stop_-”

There was no Ori or Fish in my bed, but her side was still warm. _Hnngh._ Three hours of sleep, enough to function if I had to, but I didn’t. The background was gloriously free of both _Calm For Cats_ and the sounds of building works, but my bed was empty.

I could hear them both in the living room, even under the covers. “Are we friends yet?” Ori said, and I smiled at the image of her talking to my cat. The indelicate thud of Fish feet jumped off from somewhere, an answer to her question. “Come on. What do you want from me?”

Neither of them would drag me out from my nest. A soft clink of a mug placed on the table beside me woke me when I realized I had fallen asleep again, but the kiss to my cheek was enough for me to open my eyes.

A heavy warmth pinned me to the bed before I could move. I looked up into the calculating face of Ori, her dress open to the waist as she straddled me, a mug of tea in her hand.

It would've been lovely sight to take in, if I wasn’t so fucking tired. I managed a grumbled: “good morning,” to her amusement, blinking until everything was in focus.

“Just about,” she said, refusing to move. “Fish dumplings.”

“Ah, fuck.”

The words sunk in straight away. I shoved a pillow over my head, it was too early for Ori’s clever sharpness.

She drank her tea and savoured my struggle, our restless night of noise and feelings suspiciously absent. “I just so happened to be reading _Sights and Sounds of Kahje: A Traveller’s Guide_ this morning,” she said.

I lifted the pillow to look at her, one squinting eye still open. “As you do.”

“As you do. Apparently Sema’s Bay is famous for fish dumplings, an entire pier of street vendors, even. Looks tasty.”

“That didn’t take you long,” I replied, muffled by the pillow again. “You could’ve waited and let me explain, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She put down her mug on top of my gun safe, my perfunctory attempt at a bedside table. “_Dumpling_, Kol. I’m a dumpling. To you.”

I moved the pillow to face my beatdown. As terms of endearment went, _orishen_ was harmless, or so I thought. Any matching resemblance to her very human bosom was entirely coincidental. “Well. It has your name in it. I thought, perhaps-”

She was smiling, to my relief. “I’d like to try them sometime. Sema’s Bay looks lovely.”

“It is.” The thought of taking Ori to Kahje filled me with too many emotions to label; reluctance swam to the top, but I poked it down. “If the temple inquisition is over, I am going back to sleep.”

Ori moved to the edge of the bed, freeing me to go back under the covers. “Don’t think this is over just because I have to go to work. We’re still going to your park later on, I want to meet your boardgame friends.”

“I’m fairly certain it is not my park.” I hardly thought the bunch of retired vets I played with once a week qualified as a friendship, but I let the misnomer slide. “But fine. You still want to play Go?” I asked. “I read a little of the rules yesterday.”

“Absolutely, prepare for a defeat. Call it payback for dumplings.”

I rolled over at the thought. It my day off, and that meant a lie in, the covers pulled back to my frill. “Amonkira bless your hunt, then.” A fin was tugged, and I ignored it to burrow further under. “_What._”

All I could hear was her laughter. “Our morning conversations are something I’ll always cherish. Between you and the cat, I feel so welcomed.”

I cracked open the blankets enough to stare at her. “You are more than welcome in my bed, _orishen_.” I emphasised the nickname, just to see if she was happy with its use.

She was. “You’ll have to make do with Fish. I have better things to do this morning than warm your bed. Again.” Her smile was genuine, face fresh with something. I suspected stims with her breakfast, but wouldn’t argue. “Some of us have work, you know.”

Ori knew that this was the first day off I had in ten days, but I let the jab go. “Off you go then.”

“Payback soon.” Her hand cupped the back of my fins, and I moved so she could kiss me goodbye. She tasted of tea and toothpaste, and I nuzzled the softness of her cheek before I flopped back into the pillow to watch her leave.

Whatever her mood now, Ori was a million light years away from the tears she shed only hours ago, gripped in panic from her nightmare.

Either she was hiding it somewhere or had bounced back into recovery, but who really knew with Oriana Lee?


	9. Email Interlude: The Day Off

  
**To:** Detective K. Krios, C-Sec District 12: ZW-3498  
**From:** CSI Lysay Sedese, C-Sec District 23, TS-6034  
**Subject:** RE: osmium metal/crystals [attached files: _tatt.png, arm.png _]

Detective Krios,

Thank you for the interesting find regarding the victim’s knick-knack habit, but to my knowledge only a pure form of osmium is deadly to both levo and dextro systems. I’ve found nothing in the chemical analysis pertaining to the metal in the victim’s lab report so far, not even trace elements.

As I understand, osmium is a popular fashion item at the moment for the spiritual type- but it’s used in medicine too. Osmium tetroxide (OsO4) has been used for biotic joint strain for millennia on Thessia, and is currently being used in Ardat Yakshi medicine trials, which is exciting. 

Of course nothing in Callisi’s medical history mentions A.Y, but I can confirm Phoy Callisi as a devout Siarist- not that buying those ugly crystals is enough. I’ve included a photo of her (recent) back tattoo with this email; once I scraped the mould off, I managed to find it. The work was done with traditional needles and ink, judging by the gouges- it was also infected, as you will see from the raised bumps. 

The spread of the _ servisini _ was so extensive I am unsure if the tattoo was the main entry point of the fungus, but I did find a needle prick on her upper left arm, picture also included. You can see access these files on the initial autopsy report too, which I have sent in a separate email for clarity’s sake.

I will send you all I know on _ servisini _ and keeper vats moulds once I’ve finished the report, there are literal centuries of research in the archives; only now the ban on keeper research has been lifted, and I can fully explore the potential of the vats.

Good luck with your side of the investigation; this is a thoroughly interesting case, and as I told my colleagues at CSI, one I feel very privileged to work on. I have a feeling I will think of Callisi’s circumstance often over the years; I’ve already drafted an article for the Citadel Pathologist Association, and eagerly await your findings from the other side of the autopsy table to help solve the mystery of this mould.

//CSI Lysay Sedese, TS-6034

5/03/2191

** ATTACHED FILE: **tatt.png

  


**To:** Detective K. Krios, C-Sec District 12: ZW-3498  
**From**: DI D Hoorik, C-Sec District 12, ZW-3521  
**Subject:** Strange case, standard hours

Krios,

It’s your day off today, but tomorrow I want you to focus on this mould case and get it out of our system. My superiors have taken an interest, and it’s all CSI are talking about. The scene of crime geeks are too enthusiastic for my liking- I know you’re waiting on lab reports and for them to do their job so we can do ours, but this case has too many eyes watching it.

So far it’s out of the press, let’s keep it that way- I don’t exactly want a mould panic, even though I’ve been reassured there’s no epidemic on the horizon. How's your lungs? 

Anyway! Relax. Do whatever it is you do to recharge, you will need it. See you tomorrow.

-Hoorik.

**To:** Detective K. Krios, C-Sec District 12: ZW-3498  
**From:** Detective A. Patel, C-Sec District 12, ZW-3555  
**Subject:** Thank you :) For the extra :) work :) [attached file: _BATSmiddlefinger.png _]

Krios,

What a lovely, diligent boy you are! All this extra work I have to do without you, I feel so special.

How’s the accountant? Who doesn’t love a good fiscal dusting every so often? I know I do.

Also, look at what I taught Bats. It’s a human symbol of spirit and a gift from me :)

-Patel

** ATTACHED FILE: **BATSmiddlefinger.png

  


  


**To:** Detective K. Krios, Detective A, Patel, Detective Investigator D. Hoorik  
**From:** CSI Lysay Sedese, C-Sec District 23, TS-6034  
**Subject:** TS-120235a Autopsy Report [Attached File: _SEDESE: 2091-02-05-1 _]

Detectives,

Here is my initial autopsy report, per request. Though we are still running tests in the labs for everything, so far nothing as to why this has happened is solid. We will need to hold the body for longer until we work things out our end, which I've arranged with the next of kin.

I can not begin to explain how much of a unique case this truly is- I have worked for C-Sec for 80 years now, and have seen nothing like it- well, besides the Reapers, but that's not evident here. This report is only my initial findings, and am currently researching how a post-mortem mould infected healthy, living tissue.

The why, of course, is up to you. Do not hesitate to reach out and ask questions, this truly is a conundrum we need to solve together.

-Dr Sedese

** ATTACHED FILE: **SEDESE: 2091-02-05-1

=======  
_Zakera Ward Citadel Security Services, Coroner’s Office_

**DATE/HOUR AUTOPSY PERFORMED:**  
5/03/2191, 13:30 pm by Crime Scene Investigator Lysay Sedese

Zakera CSI Building of Science and Technology,  
Athame’s Blessing Hospital,  
The Citadel

Omni-Tool: CSITS-cd22-25f-09ss  
=======

  
**SUMMARY REPORT OF AUTOPSY**

Name:  
CALLISI, Phoy

Coroner's Case Number:  
1-2191-10-5-3

Date of Birth:  
1692

Age:  
572

Race/Species:  
Asari

Sex:  
Asari (she/her preferred pronouns)

Date of Death:  
2/10/2191

Body Identified by:  
Pema T'sau (cleaner.)

Case Number:  
ZW-42375

Investigative Departments Attached to Case:  
Citadel Investigation and Security Services

  
**EXTERNAL EXAMINATION:**

The autopsy begins at 13:02 P.M. on 05/02/2191. The body is presented in a black body bag. The victim is in a blue dress with a circle pattern, though the exposed skin is covered in a grey furry mould similar to _servisini,_ a post-mortem fungus that lived in keeper vats.

Once the clothing and personal effects were removed, the body was found covered in the aforementioned mould (90% of surface) apart from the back of the knees. Upon removal on the surface mould with a scalpel, a recent back tattoo was found, with signs of infection.

The body is that of a dark blue-skinned asari with pale purple UV freckling, and weighs 62 kg. She appears well nourished and healthy within her 400 years; lividity is fixed in the distal portions of the limbs. The eyes are closed. The irises are green and corneas are cloudy. Petechial haemorrhaging is present in the conjunctival surfaces of the eyes. The pupil measure 0.1 cm across, 0.1 cm wide. The fringe is present, though showing signs of ageing normal for her years beneath the mould.

The genitalia are that of an asari, there is no evidence of injury. Limbs are equal, symmetrically developed and show evidence of an old break in her left, an artificial bone transplant present in a 0.87cm section of the lower radius. The fingers are medium length and cuticles are blue; fingernail samples show traces of the same fungus mixed in with their own skin cells from their legs.

  
**OPINION:**

Time of Death: Biomarker scan, body temperature, rigor and livor mortis, and stomach contents approximate the time of death between 01:19 am and 04:14 am on 5/03/2191.

Immediate Cause of Death: Asphyxiation of the lungs via a fungal infection.

Manner of Death: Unknown.

Remarks: First known case of death by this strain of mould, awaiting lab reports in how this is possible- _servirsini_ is usually a post-mortem breakdown on necrotic flesh, a strong suggestion of outside tampering has occurred, and that the disease was administered into the blood stream. Possible entry points have been included, with needle marks found on her back (a tattoo) and arm. (See photos.)

//CSI Lysay Sedese, TS-6034  
5/03/2191

**To:** Kolyat Krios, Personal Mail  
**From:** SewBot 1.7: Your Personal Tailor For The Extranet  
**Subject:** Welcome To SewBot!

Sere Krios,

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**EXTRANET SEARCH ALERT: HUMAN INTERSPECIES ROMANCE **[_1.2 billion mentions, 22 new articles_]

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**EXTRANET SEARCH ALERT: PATIX** [_1.5 million mentions, 12 new articles_]  


Based on your search history of [PATIX, BOARDGAME] we found the following ‘Patix Pals’ article for you:

Patix Master Maxim Waverain is the current 2191 Palaven Patix Champion, and I was lucky enough to discuss his own patix journey over a series of emails. He’s kindly allowed this to be published for all to read; we talk about his playing philosophy and history, as well as a few tips for amateur players!

1) What got you interested in the game of patix?  
  
My dad taught me how to play when I was about eight years old, that was enough. I got hold of a vid on the great 2054 Tissiki-Mavarian match, as well as visiting a local game store that had patix tables out front. Old folk would come and play, and you could sit down as long as you didn't lose. I would call "risers" on games, but at first they often wouldn't let me play since I was just a kid. But after I beat some of them I earned their respect; I had no need to enter patix tournaments or ratings or anything like that, just playing with them was enough. Someone suggested I play in youth tournaments, and within a year I was one of the top players in the state from my age group. I became a National Master at the age of ten.  
  
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If you mean the difference between the "Palaven School" and "Colony School," this has been a debate since the Unification days! To me the heart of the matter is whether it is strategically correct to allow your opponent to occupy the rivers with soldiers early in the game, and to be reckless with men- that’s the real debate between old and new, I think.

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**EXTRANET SEARCH ALERT: BESHMA**_ [2.2 million mentions, 3 new articles]_

Based on your search history of [Beshma’s day Citadel time calendar] we found the following "Dome Days" article for you:

We wait all year for Beshma’s Day and before we know it, the holiday has come and gone. The last thing we want to have happen on Repent Day is to realize that we missed out on our favorite holiday traditions. And since Beshma’s is the busiest holiday of the year, it’s easy to forget all the fun things we can do.

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**To:** Kolyat Krios, Personal Mail  
**From**: Kepral’s Research Fund**  
****Subject**: Gentle Enquiries regarding Sera Laka

Celebrated Greetings, Friend of the Foundation,

This one hopes you are well, and that the Enkindler’s Light embraces you.

This one has been getting emails and calls from a Sera Laka requesting attendance at the committee meetings. They are polite, but this one does not understand the increase of contact. It has been told that you approve; this one is anxious to hear your opinion.

This one also hopes to see you at the next meeting; it understands your work with C-Sec is very important, but as you own 51% of the Trust, this one humbly asks you attend this week. It also has news to share on the wondrous advances regarding the new research, and upcoming fundraising ideas with Weeping Heart, who have reached out and wish to partnership on a fundraising idea.

Speaks-To-Light, Humbled Secretary of the Kepral’s Research Fund


	10. Find The Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for: PTSD, vomit mention.

I was left in silence to sleep in after Ori left me, wrapped up from the universe. If I had the morning off, I indulged in it; I stayed under the covers so long that even the cat judged me, a bored paw dipped in the tea stranded by the bedside.

I moved the mug before it got us both in trouble, thankfully cold to the touch. “Not for Fish cats.” Her ears twitched at her name, yellow eyes glaring at the indignity of knowing it. I offered my hand for her inspection, though Fish soon jumped down at the thought of it reaching her.

Despite the warmth of Ori gone from my bed, I often liked my own company; I was used to it, for one. The trick to solitude was to never drown in it, but learn to float in its waters. Tricky for drell, we’re not the strongest of swimmers- but we do have memory as a constant friend.

When there is no fear of loneliness, facing it is nothing. I was left with the thought of no routine, my first day off in two weeks. There was my laundry pile, I suppose. Dirty sheets to wash, an overflowing hamper to deal with. No food in the apartment, apart from the cat’s. Thrice fuck it, I had to clean her shit box today, too.

It was called _tu’sea,_ in the old language; a kind of mental busy work, the day to day chores that become a background hum of living. Memories so routine and small they become grains of sand, a slow-building detritus of life. It was said they were the things you would miss the most when they were gone: the sound of spoon placed by a morning cup of tea by your spouse; a scraped bowl; the snap of your child’s shoe clasp; the birds at dusk.

Not every moment of life needed nostalgic waxing, despite what my ancestors thought. I don’t think I would ever look back and wonder: ‘Gods, those were the days, I truly miss cleaning the cat’s shit box.’ Even with an automated system, the thing still stunk. Fish wasn’t even a legal pet, why did I have her again, what was she eating to smell so _bad_-

“Wicked creature,” I told her. As soon as fresh litter was put in she soiled it, squatting over the box with her ears pinned back. “You’re welcome."

From one pile of shit to another, I finally checked my work inbox. I had an odd message from my boss telling me relax, but I also had several passive-aggressive mails from Patel. The latest came with a photo attachment of T’Lori showing his middle finger: _:) thank you for all the extra work, it means a lot :)_

I could help out, of course. A few hours to help clarify the evidence: talk to the store owners about the victim’s osmium crystal habit; work on what her tattoo meant; research the keeper vats. I could even do it out of uniform, just show my ID, and-

No.

I would not be pulled in, not today. Patel can deal with it by himself, the walk around the levels would do him some good. >_You’re most welcome. The tattoo is interesting- I’ll be in tomorrow to deal with it, _I replied, and closed the terminal windows with sweep of my hand.

The rest of the day and the following night was my own in theory, even if time was a nebulous concept on the Citadel. We all still clung to the circadian rhythms we were born with; Kahje might have had a setting sun and rising moon, but I didn’t need it to dictate my routine anymore.

The constant light of the Wards could drive you mad if you let it, but I coped just fine. I took one look at the cold blue skies outside the window and decided I would go for a run. It was only a ten minutes jog to the park, but at least I could sprint freely along the athletic tracks when there.

I had good memories of Zakera Park. My father, Oriana, even the gods damn board game club helped build them-

_-row upon row of corpses, laid out with a gentle hand. The mask slipped around my mouth as I-_

-but no matter when I came or who I was with, what the park _was_ during the war still shaped my recollection.

My coping methods were simple enough, I forced myself to see what it had now become- not what it was. Trauma softened with time, even for drell. I knew I was one of the lucky ones, that I had a better war than most. I survived it, for one, left alive to help fix universe.

The war gave me a job to do.

I had barely started the C-Sec Academy training before I was assigned my own badge and number, there to help fill a uniform. During the Citadel cleanup, the dwindling number of constables was almost to the point of extinction; my start in law enforcement was not the quiet beat and clean streets of Presidium as it should have been, but in the fractured ruins of my Ward.

Zakera Park was the only place large enough to act as a makeshift morgue after the second battle of the Citadel, the hospitals were too full. I stood in the very centre of a place where I helped lay out the dead, victims of war sorted by species. It would always be the first memory I’d find when I thought of the Reaper War, not the flying gods and monsters that fought above the Citadel.

That I worked with Bats T’Lori for the first time during my shifts at the park was a gift from the universe I could never return. For once, I didn’t want it to. We had met before in passing in the precinct, of course-

_-fuck me, a drell in uniform,’ the blunt-faced asari said, looking at me. ‘That’s a first.’ I scowled, opening my mouth to-_

-but it was Zakera Park where whatever we had fit’s formed. Ours was a friendship forged by war, and not even his fading blue memory would forget it.

_-we’re out of body bags,’ T’lori said, itching his nose with the back of his hands. He stood between the lines where the turian corpses met with the human, neat and separate from the other. ‘They’re sending over blankets from the refugee camps, but-_

We rarely spoke of what we saw. Sometimes when Bats was drunk and down to the last dregs of his liquor, he would only have to look at me and I would know.

_-the park,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I see it. I still have dreams where I’m tucking bodies into blankets, y’know? It ain’t-_

What came after our victory was a station wide clean up that would outlast my lifetime, even if the Council said it would only take a decade to rebuild it all. With the subsequent move back through the barely-functioning Relays, nothing was normal anymore. How could it be?

_-red burned my retinas as the Citadel came apart with a shudder. My fins slammed the wall behind me as my vision went dark, pain-_

Zakera had changed.

_-above the tall starscrapers the skyline was stained with smoke, littered with the corpses of fallen ships and broken Reapers. In the sullen daylight of Sol, the noise and roar of battle only dimmed. I was unsure who had won when a capital ship crashed into the open arm of Teyseri, too tired to-_

The memories still felt like a vid, even though I saw it with my own eyes. It did not hurt to remember the giant monsters and machines I saw swooping the skies, how could it? Picking up the pieces after was the blow to the gut.

I knew I chose to come to Zakera Park for a reason. It was more than crumbling tracks, broken fountains and board games; I was here to spite my memories, to stand in their shadows and realise that’s all they were, nothing more.

The plastic grass and holo trees was a place of normality again: play areas filled with happy squawking children; tired workers on their lunch breaks; day-drunk students on rationed picnics and smuggled alcohol in plastic cups. 

The only way out of the past was forward. I would run so fast I would leave it behind- but only after I warmed up first.

Three children in green tunics watched me work from the bench while I went through my callisthenics routine, fascinated by something. They were a mixed group, despite the similar clothes: two tan-plated turian siblings with Cipritine markings, and a dark-haired human stuck between them like glue.

I was halfway through a set when I noticed them staring, bemused by my effort. They all looked faintly sticky; I cleared my throat, looking away to complete my last lunge. “Are you a drell?” asked the human, a dried smear of something on her cheek.

It was always a mistake to come here at this time. The schools and playgroups were done for the day, and the parks filled with wild packs of interspecies children freed of the shackles of their education.

The oldest turian looked down at her, browplates frowning at the question. “I am,” I replied, switching to stretch my other leg.

“Oh.” An entire thumb was shoved in her mouth with a pop, a finger over her nose. I wondered if Ori did the same as a child; she still chewed the skin around her fingers when she was lost in thought, a noise I loathed.

_-nails out of your mouth at the table, please,’ Aunt Suma rapped the back of my fins, and I shoved my hands on my lap-_

“Are you a human?” I said, throwing the question back.

The eldest turian put an arm around her, a shield from my returning question. “She’s my sister.”

I smiled, despite the burn in my chest from the exercise. “You look a lot a like.”

The human beamed at my words. “It’s because we’re wearing the same shirt.”

A dark-plated turian watched me from another bench; their parent, I assumed. I nodded once in her direction as I stood, just to let her know I wouldn’t kidnap her children. “I’m going for a run now.”

I forced myself to jog before I eased into a sprint, my audience left behind. Today’s session would be two loops around the edge of the park, then out into the streets of the Industrial District. My route crossed the bolted on walkways and tunnels that neighboured the nearby factories and storage units, a map already planned in my head.

Not even the park could escape the endless construction; the skeletal frame of a tower block loomed closer as I ran along the tracks, steel ribs clicked into place by automated machines. It was loud, but I could tune it out-

-I had a personal best to beat.

Running cleared my head, my preferred drug of choice. Something about it made the memories slip away, all because I put one foot in front of the other. I counted my breaths _-one Amonkira, two Amonkira, three Amonkira_\- to steady myself, a slow rhythm to ease the burn of my muscles being used to their limit.

Maybe it’s something my kind know better than most, this barrier. We came from a land of endless desert and plains; we evolved from running between safety spots, tracking our way across dangerous lands to-

Ah, thrice fuck it, _no_. What varren shit I thought when I was high on exercise; I came from Enkindler’s Basket, Kahje. My land was nothing but farmed melon and flattened fields surrounded by the ocean; the only tracking I did was working out when Imra Serron was between her classes at school, just so I could catch a glimpse of her walking.

My entire route took over an hour, just shy of my record by a half a minute. I had just enough time to cool down when I jogged back to the park to meet Ori, maybe stake out a quiet place for us to talk.

She came in a different direction than I thought, distracted as I was by my cool down. Not only was she early, but came loaded with gifts; two cups of a steaming something in her hands, carefully held around the rims.

“I’m flattered,” I said, distracted by her legs. Ori wore a different dress than earlier, a fitted sheath of layered purple that reached her knees. “Fifteen minutes before the mark. Hello, _orishen_.”

-_one short conversation and a pair of long, long legs next to mine in a skycar was all it took, I was interested in her. The light caught her human skin in reds and blues as-_

She had good legs, my Ori.

A gentle kiss was placed on my cheek. “And you’ve been running.” Ori sat down heavily before offering me a drink, a hint of pale thigh on show. “In your tight little suit, too. Scandalous.”

I gave my gear a confused once over before trying her gift, a blended Thessian tea heavy on the smoke. “I always wear this for my exercise. You’ve seen it before.”

“I know.” She tilted her head to one side and made a point to stare at me, a slow appraisal that warmed my blood. I liked that look on her, especially when we were alone. “I’m lucky.”

But we weren’t alone, not in Zakera Park. “Right, of course. My old workout clothes. A visual treat.”

At my chuffing Ori rolled her eyes. A vague handwave towards the swell of the crowd made me look, and the moment was gone. “You had an audience when you jogged your way in, did you even notice?”

I knew she was teasing then, she had to be. At least, I assumed she was; no one cared what I wore, the people of the park were wrapped in their own universe. That she had seen me run was interesting, however.

I had no idea she had been watching.

“Don’t be absurd,” I said. Ori could be wily when she wanted to be. “I am not here for anyone’s entertainment.”

The scowl I wore was mostly fake, but I sat down next to her anyway. “You’re here for mine, don’t pout.” Ori kissed me again as I leaned into her, a little peck of my chin before letting me go. “That’s the point of us meeting, isn’t it? For me to thrash you at Go. Have you prepared a little?”

“Of course.” I thought it was the same the universe over. All species had a thousand variations of the game, even if their culture denied the origin. “Build and conquer a space. Bait the opponent. Work out their play style, counter and crush them accordingly.”

“Not at all, who wins might not be clear until the territories are counted.” We both knew I was going to lose, and I gave her a look. “Okay, fine. This is only going to be a practise session, we all have to start somewhere.”

_-her hands found me through my uniform. ‘You learn fast,’ Ori said, and I thrummed in satisfaction as-_

“You going to make it worth my while?”

A gentle foot nudge found my ankle. “Maybe. Let’s go find a place to play.”

Easier said than done in Zakera Park. I nodded at a couple of the old-timers always here playing something on the public tables, but they left us to it; we were an hour from the board game meeting, and they had games to finish.

Ori found us free table to play only half-covered in trash, a jagged symbol of Zakera’s biotiball team scratched into the metal surface. I cleaned it off, forgotten graffiti before the war.

“So far, so simple,” I said, tracing a fingernail in the smudged lines.

Our onmi-tools connected once to create a holoboard, a faint orange glow between us. Ori looked at me, blue eyes sharp. “I’m rank one _dan, _you know_. _Still an amateur, but that means you have a nine stone handicap to start.”

“_Handicap_.” Neatly spaced black stones lined the board after a click of her ‘tool, my territory to defend. “Yours is a generous soul.”

“It’s only fair.” A calculated look of something crossed her face, and I paid attention. “You place your moves where the lines meet,” she said, tapping the board. “My mother explained it that each stone is a life, and needs air to breath. When liberties are taken from it, the life is gone.” A purple nail circled a stone to prove her point. “Surround the space, and it dies.”

I snorted. “Just like life, then.”

“No, I find the rules of Go are more fair.” Ori placed a white counter against one of mine, a bold move. “You can’t cheat here.”

Stone by stone was placed in flickering holo, the spaces filled with a touch of a finger. A row of black stones were placed to the side after a bad move of mine, fallen soldiers already asphyxiated off the board.

“A fine start,” I said, watching her stare off into the distance. The middle of the board especially confused me, a vague feeling I was doing something I shouldn’t.

Ori leaned forward at my words, so far silent in her play. “Not that bad, actually. But you really do think too long on your moves,” she said, poking me in the shoulder. “Just play. The faster you do, the quicker you learn.”

I refused to budge from her needling, chin still in my hands. “I am learning at my own pace.”

“Learn faster.” Ori played her stone as soon as I was done, but even I could see whatever I countered was futile. “I’ll be gentle with my beating,” she said, batting her eyelashes.

I always found it a creepy human gesture, and about as arousing as twitching insect legs. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what, thrash you in public?” Ori reached for my hand before I could pull it away, bending low to kiss the spaces between my knuckles; no one saw us, too wrapped up in their own games and lives. “Poor little Kolyat,” she said, purple lips staining my scales.

“_Ah-_” She looked up and smiled, and I was whatever she wanted me to be in that very moment. “You’re enjoying this too much.” My voice was deeper than usual. We were still in public, and I cleared my throat before I did something stupid.

“Am I?” Ori gently pulled away, smiling at my tongue-tied idiocy. “So are you, I think.”

We played the next three moves with our hands to ourselves, but the touch of her kiss still lingered on my scales. Purple-pink gunk stained my fingertips when I tried to clean it off, scales tinged in colour.

“You should probably pay attention to your far left corner. Just a hint,” Ori said. I looked up to see her smile, amused by my distraction.

“Why should I trust you?” I still placed a stone on the vague edge of hers, hoping it was right.

It was, somehow. Ori’s smile brightened, my reward for a decent defence played. “You just averted a disaster, but there’s more fires on the board to put out.”

I chuffed, her words too amusing to pass up. “I’ve always found my life to be a constant contingency plan, I can cope.”

”My sympathies,” she said, a hand on her heart. “But react more to my plays, don’t think so far ahead. It’s not like chess.”

She had too much faith in my skill, I was decidedly not thinking about anything. “Your abuse and poking are part of the game too, or is that a personal preference?”

“Respect your teacher’s methods.” A very human brow was raised, a hint of smirk on her face. “You’re here to learn, after all.”

“News to me, I thought I was here for a beating.”

“They’re the same thing, if-”

Before she could finish her words, a shriek of metal interrupted out game. Curious children stuck fingers and talons through the fence to stare at the noise made by the nearby construction, metal ribs of the tower still exposed.

The novelty of the building works had worn off fast for the adults, but the kids were still fascinated by the light and drama of the cranes. I recognised the green-vested trio who spoke to me earlier staring the longest, small human hands held in the talon-fingered hold of her siblings.

Ori followed my gaze and softened hers, smiling at the sight of their excitement. “It is endless,” I said, watching the mess of metal and dust puff in clouds above their heads.

She snorted, eyes back on the board. “Just five more years of rebuilding the Citadel. Which is optimistic, given the scope of the planned engineering. Have you seen the blueprints? They’ve just been published, they’re going to run out of money at this rate.”

Construction was her speciality, not mine. I watched her connect her territories with a shake of her head, the final seal of my fate. “Try explaining that to my cat,” I said, my black stones dying from her move. “There's only so many treats I can give her to calm her down, the veterinarian tells me she is overweight. I’m going to have to have her music running all week, I can tell.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Fish is a chunky girl. I’ll send you a decent recording of Debussy to cheer her up, though. You might like it too.”

I doubted that. All her human music sounded the same to my ears, especially the orchestras. “I can try, she might like it.”

The building works pitched itself over our conversation, this time the angry buzz of drilling. Ori narrowed her eyes at the board before she played, face tight with something. “My personal soundtrack, off duty and on.”

_-she stared at nothing on the wall, arms gripped on herself in my bed. ‘Ori?’ I asked, unsure how to-_

It did not take a genius to work out her sudden quiet. “Are you all right?”

The construction dimmed at my question, a dull background noise to our conversation. “Of course I am. And we are done, there’s no more moves to play.”

I lost, of course. Ori’s army of white had defeated my black, even with a nine stone lead. “Are you satisfied at my beating?” I asked.

Her lip was between her teeth, a mischievous look. “One more game? Same handicap as before, we have time before the meeting.”

“If you insist.” If she was as right as she said she was, then I could voice a quiet thought I had, an unraveled thread left to tug at. “What happened last night?” I said, leaning back in my seat.

The question made her pause, but only for a moment. “Just a bad dream, that’s all,” she replied. Ori didn’t make a usual joke to pass me off, but it was still a vague dismissal. At least it was the truth this time- just a little confession to brush off, nothing to worry about.

_I’m fine._

There comes a point where even if I knew pushing her to talk would result in deflection, I was still a detective. Being open about vulnerable things was not the same as being open, no matter how many truths I knew about Oriana Lee.

“Then why did you hide yourself in the bathroom?”

Ori snorted as she busied herself with setting up another board, and I itched to still her hands. “I don’t think I really have to explain that, surely,” she said. “You know what happens in bathrooms.”

I was given my nine stone handicap, but this time I played my hand with less indecision. _“Soap, mirror, toothpaste, mascara.”_ I reeled off her private litany without explanation, but it was enough to surprise her.

She seemed hesitant to reply, but played her next move with an equally firm hand. “Your hearing is better than I thought.”

“Only a little.” Ori eyes were on the board in a pretence of focus, but I refused to look away. “You said them a lot. Over and over, like a prayer.” To her stony silence, I cleared my throat. “Plenty of prayers are said to the Gods in bathrooms, by plenty of species.”

_-Arashu fuck me sideways, why, why does my head hurt so much, why?’ The pinch of vomit hurt my nose, the taste of-_

At my recoil she looked up. “Where did you go this time?” Ori asked. Sometimes she knew when the memories came, especially when they were sharp enough for me to flinch at their passing.

This one I could share, at least. “New Mexico. Motel room floor. Tequila. Never again.”

She chuckled, and the board filled up with pieces again. “I’ve tried it once, did nothing to me. I liked the salt and the fruit, though.”

“You’re lucky.” I placed another stone without much thought, the game an excuse to keep her in one place. “Your bathroom prayer was not repent to sin like mine was. You were talking to yourself.”

Her blue eyes turned to ice. “So what? It was just-” Ori stopped herself, halfway through another deflection. Instead she clicked her teeth, the missing words like gunshots.

It fucking pained me to think it, but I knew one more question would crack her; she knew it too. “Do you want to stop?”

The question came loaded, but she ignored the meaning. “No, we can keep playing.”

“I meant the conversation.”

“So did I.” Ori scowled at the board. “You know so much about me,” she said, looking away. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

Because I knew the cause but not the effect. I knew what Henry Lawson did to her, neat little facts of her past laid out like a police report. But I only saw the damage Ori wanted me to see, her illusion of intimacy. Whatever she felt was never explicitly said out loud, a clever dishonesty in feeling.

“I can understand why,” I said. “No one likes talking about their past.”

The word I meant to say was _trauma_, but I lessened the sting. Ori barely flinched, staring at the scuff marks on the table. “You’re my boyfriend, not my therapist.”

“I know.” She looked away. Ori remained silent, staring at a hole on the edge of the board, jaw tight with something. “You do things that confuse me,” I said.

At my reply, she looked up. “Good, you like the challenge. Officer Krios on the case.”

The resentment threatened to overspill into my voice. “You are not work.” The fucking cat was more honest with her feelings, even if the bite was worse. “Why do you think I ask these things?”

I could count the silence with each intake of breath. Ori held onto the table in retaliation of my words, as if at any moment she would push herself off and run, a wounded bird in flight. “You’re concerned.”

“I hope you’d know that without being told.”

“You shouldn't be, I’m fine.” Ori couldn’t look at me. “Thank you, though. I know you care.”

Her hair had fallen over an eye. I itched to push it away, strange human eyelashes catching the longer strands of her crown. “Sometimes you’re hard to read,” I said, doing it anyway. “If what you do is a human thing or an Ori thing. Whatever you mean gets lost in translation, that’s all. I just want clarification.”

The grip of the table lessened. She laughed once, though she was far from amused. _“Clarification. _Right._”_

Her words made my throat tighten, but I kept the annoyance out of my voice. “I didn’t mean it like that. I am concerned for your well-being.”

“How romantic.” Ori leaned back, legs crossed under the table. “Tell me again how much you want my _clarification_.”

How did my words become so twisted in her hands? The meaning pulled to the depths, left to drown by the good of my intentions. “I don’t want you to be upset, I want to help you. If there’s anything I can do to soothe the hurt, if there’s something I can do. I understand bad memories, Ori.”

“Ah hah.” That little sound I found so endearing was used like a warning shot. “So this is about you, not me.”

_Forget I mentioned anything_, I wanted to tell her. I know humans can. Instead I counted the slow tick of my anger until it dissolved in my stomach, my fists bunched on my knees. “I would like to think,” I said carefully, “you would understand my purpose in asking.”

I was close to leaving her here. Getting up, running away. Anywhere but the fucking park, anything but this. One constant foot in front of the other in a sprint, just so the memories would slip away.

_-the rain on my face dripped down as I ran along the edge of the dome, the waves an endless battering of salt and noise and-_

It was her turn to count the breaths of my silence.

“I do understand,” she said, reaching for my hand. “I’m sorry, I’m being a bitch. Don’t be mad with me.”

The apology sat wrong on my scales, but I returned the grasp with one of my own. “Three times,” I said.

She tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“You said sorry to me three times last night. You have nothing to apologise for, as far as I can tell.” We were still talking circles around each other; the holoboard stuttered into action from our joined hands, confused by the action. Ori frowned, her reply a silent exhale. “What happened, _orishen_?”

Too much. She pulled away, hands back in her lap.

“I think you’re reading too much into a bathroom break.” At my sharp look, she returned one of her own. “And you did help me, if that makes you feel better about it all. I liked our late night talk.”

Despite her apology, my questioning had got to her, an unintended barb to rupture soft human skin. “Ori-“

“It won’t happen again, anyway.”

“What, pillow talk?” I wanted to return a sorry of my own, but it felt hollow.

“I like that. I meant the ...weird mumbling.” The dark mood changed, an artificial lifting of cloud. Ori was smiling now, a fake cover to her embarrassment. “I know you were worried, but there was nothing you could do, it was only a nightmare. I have to deal with them alone.”

We were getting somewhere, at least. “Does it work? The mumbling, I mean.”

Ori reached for me under the table, a subtle squeeze of my knee. “Yes, actually. It’s just a harmless meditation of mine.”

Fingers crept along the edge of my thigh, hidden by the table. When words fumbled themselves into a gulley, we always found other ways to talk.

_“Ori.”_

“What? I thought it was _clarification_ you wanted.”

She had a knack of loading her words, but I knew that look. If we were in the privacy of our apartments, this conversation would have continued in silence, clothing pushed to one side.

It would start like it had now, a casual touch. Just another subterfuge of hers, an expressed intimacy to deflect another. Without fail I always fell for it, but sometimes I saw the ruse.

_-where’s the lady,’ the conman said, crouched over his dirty blanket. I thought it was the card in the middle, but Father spoke first. ‘It’s tucked in the back of your sleeve,’ he said, face clear of expression. ‘And now it’s in the left pile. And now you’ve moved it to the back. And now it’s in the middle-_

But we couldn’t settle things our usual way, not here. Even if I found a quiet place for us to air our grievances against a wall, the eyes of the Citadel’s cameras remained a constant vigil.

Instead I gently pulled her hand from my thigh, a gentle squeeze of regret. No one was alone on the Wards, even if you felt like it. We would have to talk with our hands to ourselves- no running away, no hiding.

“_Soap, mirror, toothpaste, mascara,” _I said, repeating the words again.

“I don’t understand why you’re so fascinated with this, what else do you want me to say about it, exactly?” Ori asked. I looked away to let her right herself, waiting for the deflection to come. “I repeat words to myself, it’s just a little trick of mine.”

“To fool who, exactly?”

“Not like that.” The anger had returned. “Not everything is a great deception in life, _officer_.”

Patel had a phrase about hills and dying on them, but the meaning had a universal translation. Even though it was a small thing to fixate on, it was still a way in.

“Sometimes our minds lie to us,” I said, gently nudging the conversation where I wanted it to be. “Even memories can change over time.”

Ori didn’t believe me. “That from experience?”

“Perhaps. Not all recollection is a burden- your distraction method is a little different to mine, that’s all.”

She was slow to reply. Thrice fuck it, why did I fucking bother attempting this here? Ori would never speak her mind in public.

...or so I thought.

“I found myself with the one man who understands old memories the most,” she said, dropping low in her seat. “And somehow I still fuck it up.”

Her profanity was sharp enough to surprise me. “It doesn’t make drell special, or more equipped to handle the burden of recollection. I’ve always thought that human memory was kinder than ours, but you’ve taught me that it is clearly the similar.”

Ori snorted once, but looked away before she spoke. “Happy to help,” she said. “It’s my _Calm for Cats.” _I sat in patient silence, waiting for a further explanation. “The repeated words, I mean. Gets me out of a panic attack spiral._”_

That she had told just me it was a panic attack was a casual frag grenade thrown onto the table, so I cleared my throat and picked up the pieces. “There is a school of thought that the memory of monotonous repetition is enough to soothe a broken mind and spark recovery for drell,” I said. “It’s used as a standard therapy for children.”

_-why don’t you draw something for me.’ The nurse stilled my fidgeting hands, my coin taken away from me. Dada was gone, Mami was dead. ‘Why don’t you draw me your house-_

“You sound like you don’t agree,” Ori replied, curious to see if I might explain my connection.

I wouldn’t. This moment was about her, and not a race in personal trauma. “It works for some, like most things in life. But I prefer to focus on what I can change in the present.”

“That’s what I do too, you know.” She raised her brows, surprised at something. “The universe is a funny thing.” At her reply I cocked my head, unsure of the meaning. “What I do exists in other cultures, that’s all. My human doctor said it was a salarian method taught to him by his elcor professor. I find relief in that, as odd as it sounds.”

“An act of repetition to soothe the soul.” Like repeated words said by grieving boys in mandatory therapy sessions, the coin their mother gave them lodged in their hands like a talisman.

“You make it sound bigger than it is, it’s not. The words drown out the nasty feedback loops, a list of things I can see and touch.”

_Feedback loop_. I connected the dots she left, an obvious gap to fill. “Your nightmare.”

She shrugged and smiled, as if I had caught her at something. “It was complete garbage my mind made up, I know you dream differently. But- it wasn’t real, I know that. Toothpaste, my mascara and a dirty bathroom mirror? That’s real.”

As I slept next to her last night, I saw the image of a Reaper landing in the dome of of my childhood. I would never tell her; it was only a patchwork of memories shown out of order, not a horror vid like hers.

Our conversation would not become a competition in who had it worse. Instead I returned her shrug with one of my own, my hand in hers again. “There’s a reason the mirror is dirty,” I said.

“Is there really?” Ori smiled, a gentle thing. My reply was was the start of something familiar, an old grievance to air.

If she wanted to ground herself to the here and now, I could help. “I have this guest who can’t brush their teeth without making a mess, it’s almost a talent. I’m forever finding splatters where they shouldn't be.”

Ori’s relief at the subject change bubbled over in laughter, eyes shining with something. “You leave Fish alone, it's hard to hold a toothbrush when you’re a cat.”

We both leaned back, unsure what else to say. I could push her again, of course. Ask her what exactly she dreamt to trigger her panic, but I could guess there too.

Monsters were easy to find if you knew where to look. “You can talk to me about anything you want, you know,” I said.

“Same to you.” It had felt we had reached the end of the conversation, an undertow sucking us back towards the waves. Ori checked her omni-tool, and smiled. “Well. I suppose there’s no time for another game now.”

We had forty minutes, more than enough. Instead drank the dregs of my tea before I spoke, a slow rise from the grubby table. “I usually help set up the tables if I’m early, I know the code to the community room. I’ll introduce you to the founders when they show, the couple in charge are always first to arrive.”

Ori stood up and straightened herself, a smile clicked into place. “I’m good at moving furniture. I can help.”

Our conversation still dragged at my lungs, a solid weight to my chest. The whole thing felt undone, the lady moved on with a sleight of hand.

“You’re good at a lot of things,” I said.

“Not everything,” she replied, reaching for me. “No one is perfect.”

Her hand was solid when I held it in mine.


	11. Almost Free

Appearances were often deceiving, especially on the Citadel.

Situated in the very heart of Zakera Park, the Vem Oron Community Centre looked like what it was, namely a shabby, worn building that didn’t quite right itself after the war, even if it had survived the apocalypse.

Most walked past without knowing what was inside, but usually only a glancing curiosity at most. The place looked like a glorified prefab cabin, mainly used to store sports club equipment and gardening tools.

The board game club had met here for literal centuries, and would probably carry on for literal more. I had codes to the place as a constable long before I ever joined, access still keyed into my omni-tool.

A pile of exercise mats meant for park yoga threatened to spill as I opened the door, hastily abandoned to the side.

_-they kinda stink, but three together is a comfy bed,’ T’Lori said, shrugging. His face mask hung around his neck, dark circles under his eyes. ‘There’s no food. I’m not sure if-_

“I’m quite certain that’s not meant to be there,” I said, nudging the mess with a foot.

The door locked itself once we moved past the threshold, safe and sound from the outside noise of the park. Outside the walls were covered in graffiti and scratches, but here the clubs and societies dominated, decorated notice boards divided into neatened rectangles.

Ori smiled at the glitter-tinged posters made by the playgroup, a colourful chaos compared to the more dour boards of the community clubs. A holo of a mixed group of children holding out their painted hands took up most of the space, their smiling asari minder in the middle.

This was a place of warmth and living, despite the depilated exterior. The main room somehow seemed to hum with something whenever I came; if I was turian, I would say the centre held a strong Spirit, bolstered by the millions of souls who had met here before.

I was only vaguely agnostic, but even I knew what a place of memory looked like. “The entire building needs renovating,” I said, staring at a stain on the floor. “You’ll get used to the smell, the children’s playgroup use it before us.”

Ori frowned at my words. “It’s perfectly fine,” she replied.

“Bathroom to your left, kitchen to your right.” We were here early for a reason, and it was crumbling furniture. “Tullus and Juter will be here half an hour before the doors open. They’re always first- we can put start on the tables without them, they’re too old to do it by themselves.”

Ori followed me to the storage room just off from the hall, the fold-down chairs tidied away. The place was too small for us both and smelt of damp, but it was-

_-a good hideout. I had been awake for thirty hours, too many bodies, too many people. My hand shook as I ate my ration bar, fingers fumbling with the wrapper. I could rest for a while, it only for a-_

The recollection passed in an eyeblink. She said nothing as I shook myself awake, a polite disinterest at its passing. “I’ve slept in here a few times,” I said. The wave of exhaustion was only a memory.

Ori smiled politely. “In a cubby hole? Cosy.”

“Not really.”

“_Oh_.”

One little word, a sound of understanding. Ori could guess at the memory, she was smart enough.

I still felt the need to explain myself. “The main hall was a triage centre during the war.”

A lie, but a small one. Not much first aid happened within the walls, but it still turned into a makeshift camp for the ground teams, all of us worked to exhaustion.

“That sounds stressful, I’m sorry.”

I cleared my throat. “I didn’t do much, I was barely in uniform. Those exercise mats are surprisingly comfortable to sleep on, though.”

She had reached for my hand, a gentle squeeze of my fingers. “It looks a little different now. The centre, I mean.”

“It is.” Dust spiralled above our head, moved by the draft of an overhead vent. Even inside buildings, the stuff still found us; that detritus of living, impossible to escape on the Citadel.

Ori followed my gaze to watch it fall, barely visible in the dark of the room. “Buildings like this are a good thing,” she said. “I’m glad it survived the fight.”

“Just about.” I snorted. “Like most of us.”

My hand was tugged once. “Also a good thing,” she said, sharper than before.

I looked down to argue, but she kissed me. At first it was a darting, furtive gesture- her mouth on mine, a secret in the gloom. A quiet edge of desperation found us as the kiss deepened; the pair of us clung to each other in the dark, lost in feelings we could only swallow in silence.

“Maybe it is,” I said, against the corner of her mouth. Hers was softer than mine, but everything always was with Ori. My hands found the curve of her ass to her put upon sighs, but she still leaned up to kiss me.

“We’re alone,” she said, a murmur against my lips.

Ori had me in the palm of her hand, and she knew it too. “And?”

“And no cameras,” she replied, looking over my shoulder. “And a firmly locked front door.”

They were questions and not statements, despite the phrasing. I answered by lifting her up, to her startled laughter. “At least, for the moment.”

Ori clung to my shoulders as I walked us towards the nearest wall, teeth nipping the lines on my frill. “See, now you get my thinking.”

The stacked chairs wobbled in protest at our movement. “Is that right?” I asked, pulling her legs around my waist. “You act like you’re so sure about everything. That you got the universe all worked out, no matter what.”

“Because I have.” The pearls in her earlobes glinted in the shadows, but still a dull shine compared to the wetness of her mouth. “It’s so very simple,” she said, a whisper against my frill.

“Is it?”

“We’re right where we’re meant to be, just so. The stars aligned for us to be in this very moment.”

Her words were a holistic nonsense meant for a motivational vid. The glint in her eye meant she thought so too, but I still chuffed in disagreement. “Good of the stars to take pity on us,” I said. “Anyone with a code could still walk in, you know. It’s a community building.”

Ori tilted her head just so, a quiet challenge. She didn’t have to speak- I knew what her reply would be, but I was more concerned in finding it in the curves of her thighs. Her mouth on mine was another firm opinion, as was the lifting of her dress.

_Gods dammit_. I knew what the public decency laws were, I was paid to.

At this precise point in time I didn’t care, especially pressed into her warmth. We had fallen into our usual kind of conversation, the only noise her stifled moans and the staccato thumping of the wall. What use were words, perhaps Ori had a point with her deflections.

She arched against me, a louder gasp. Ours was a shared distraction this time, too fraught with nerves for anything else. There was no choice but to follow her lead- I leaned her head against my mine after I came, a stuttered gasp against her frillless throat.

Already I was lost at Sea. The lines of my cheek indented the soft of hers; neither of us could linger here, but I could at least hold on to a fraction of the moment.

Her fingers found my lips. I kissed them, but Ori wiped at something with her thumb instead. “There,” she said.

_-we are where we are meant to be, just-_

“Just lipstick.” The touch left me, but a gentle kiss found my brow. “Suits you, though.”

“Hmm.” I nuzzled my forehead against hers.

“_Kol_.” My shoulder was tapped. “I don’t think I would make the best first impressions with my panties caught in my boots. We have to move.”

The moment crashed into reality. My legs twinged in cramp, the last reminder of my hour-long run, and her soft weight in my arms. “I know.”

I helped Ori down from the wall, dress tucked into place. “How rumpled am I?” she asked, righting the strange architecture of her bra with a tug. “I can’t go back and change.”

“You’re fine.”

I wasn’t.

The result of our coupling revealed itself as she pulled away, the edge of my suit lining damp with evidence. “Thrice fuck it. Gods damn, fuck it all, _why_-”

There was no one to blame but myself. Ori had dressed herself when she noticed, brow pinched in remorse. “You could wash it off. Apparently cold water works best, for, uh. Fluids. Didn’t you say there was a bathroom-”

“Yes,” I replied, through gritted teeth. “I am familiar with stains.”

_-Krios you’re standing in our viscera of our victim,’ DI Hoorik said, face politely blank. ‘Make a record of your footprint, please. I don’t want any more mistakes-_

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Sorry,” I told her. Ori glared at the edge of my temper- I deserved it. My anger was mostly noise, and kissed her cheek to let her know it was no one’s fault. “Should be fine.”

She was still annoyed. “I’ll be back soon. Going to test the facilities.”

“Wait.” I grabbed her hand before she moved away. “People will know,” I said.

She knew what I meant, but ignored it anyway. “That I used the bathroom?”

“No. That we are... together.”

Her reply dripped in sarcasm. “Do you plan to announce our quickie in the middle of a game? Lovely storage room by the way, very sturdy walls, thanks for the invite.”

I rolled my eyes, a double flicker of eyelids that made her look away. “I will introduce you as my girlfriend, since it’s obvious that you are.”

_-smugly: the nose never lies. Elcor know these things,’ he said, blinking in shock as my queen took his rook-_

Ummot was a regular who came for the chess, even though he was told that an elcor’s usual thirty hour match was forbidden. He once told me over a patix game that he knew two members of the club -politely left unnamed- were together in secret, all with a knowing touch to his pedipalps.

“Why would I lie about that?” she asked. Ori was inscrutable, features blandly polite. “I really do need to use the bathroom, be right back in a moment.”

“Of course.” What was it about her and fucking bathrooms? Something on my face must shown, because my forehead was flicked with her hand.

“To _pee_, you idiot. Do you want me to try and wash your top or not?”

I could’ve said no, but the scowl has returned. Instead I cleared my throat and stripped off, scales clamped at the sudden chill. “We don‘t have long, hurry back. And the stalls aren’t pretty, to warn you.”

At her shrug I tucked my fingers under my armpits, cold at the loss of my vest. “I told you, I’ve been to worse,” she replied. “See you in a moment.”

Exactly how in the thrice-fucked sea I was meant to explain to anyone walking in why I was only in my tights would be a challenge. Instead of standing around like an idiot, I kept warm by setting out the tables, a stack of chairs my only modesty.

My suit was given back to me when I had uprooted half the closet, relieved at the warmth even when a patch of damp clung to my scales. “If anyone asks, you spilled your tea,” she said. “Terribly clumsy of you.”

The door opening silenced my reply, the solitude of the building no longer ours to share. Juter and Tullus Potisius were as surprised to see us as we were of them, a crate of food supplies between them almost dropped.

They were old for turians, cracked plates aged and weathered with time. I picked up their supplies with ease, the kitchen a few steps away.

“Oh, it’s you,” Tullus said, switching on all the main lights of the room. “And you started on the chairs, excellent.”

He vaguely waved towards the supply closet we had recently defiled, and cleared my throat. “I can help too, Kolyat has shown me around already.” Ori said, smiling. She walked up toward the pair to greet them, hands clasped behind her back.

“And who are you?” Tullus said. His weathered face pinched into a scowl, a talking tree come to life. “You’re new.”

“Hope you don’t mind me being here, I’m Oriana Lee,” Ori said, offering a very human hand for him to shake. “Ori to my friends.”

Tullus looked at it, suspicious of intent; Juter held her husband’s elbow before he could reply, mandibles quirked in a smile. “New faces are always welcome,” she said. “You can help me with refreshment table, another pair of talons would be useful, thank you.”

Ori’s smile did not falter from the social snub of her husband. Of course Tullus knew what a handshake meant, but he was a petty man. “Lead the way.”

She still winked me as I walked by with the last of the tables, a kava machine in hers. The doors were now officially open; a pair of green-skinned salarians set up as soon as they could, a semak board rolled out with a flourish.

They gave Ori only the briefest of curious looks, the lure of their game more interesting. Selai and Leki were regulars that refused to do much else when here; an odd mix of personalities, for brothers. Selai spoke so fast that Leki felt he never had to, a silent partner to their double-act.

“Don’t bother with that one, it’s broken,” Selai said, watching me struggling with a table.

“Right.” I looked up from wrestling it back into shape, trapping a finger in the process. “Feel free to help out with the rest.”

“Nah, you’re doing a brilliant job.” The pair of them barely looked up from their game, but I could see the twitch of a smile on Leki’s lips. “Wouldn’t want to take it away from you.”

Tullus sat by the door while the hall filled with club members, gnarled talons resting on his cane. He was dressed in the same suit I saw him in each week, the vague utilitarian robes his kind were fond of. A tight cap lay against his fringe, but I always found hats about as funny on turians as they were on my cat. His expression even reminded me of Fish, imperiously watching the comings and going of his club from his perch.

So far the crowds were free of elcor, and my encounter with Ori was safe from a delicate nose. Tullus leaned forward to speak to me as I straightened the final row of chairs, a tap of his cane to get my attention. “I would have appreciated an email first about your guest, if only for my record keeping.”

I glanced up, thinking what to say. Ori laughed with Juter over something I couldn’t hear, a crate of drinks between them. She looked decidedly refreshed, despite our previous inclinations; she had reapplied her lip paint, the blotchy red of her skin fading from her neckline.

It seemed no one else knew what we got up to.

“Her name is Oriana,” I said, unsure what to do with hands. I held them behind my back, a gesture that translated itself to all species as polite. “She knows several human games. I assumed the club had an open invitation.”

“It does not.” I was given a long look. “She needs to pay a fee, I see no new transfers to the club’s account.”

Thrice fuck his rules, Gods damn it. Tullus was a retired Historian for his people, and as close to a priest as turians got. It was his job to observe his colony and culture, to the point where even his hobby became his work. The board game club was run with the ruthless efficiency of an official record keeper, every game and player somehow noteworthy of something.

“Do you want her to leave?” I asked. The _her_ in question knew what we were talking about, an eye on the conversation even across the hall.

“ I don’t.” Selai peered over his semak board as he lit another cigarette, interrupting our conversation with a cough. He often smoked as he played, to our irritation; I always thought it was a gambler’s tilt, his intimidation in smoke puffs.

I knew he spent his days in the casinos and private tables of Zakera, despite his day job. All of it was barely legal, but Selai had enough sense to _not_ tell the C-Sec detective he played board games with twice a month about the rest.

“Don’t scare the new blood off, you old raptor,” he said, exhaling lines of smoke from his nose. “I want freal opponents. Trials should be allowed, if you want my opinion.”

Tullus chuffed. “I do not.” I still sent over sixty credits from my ‘tool for Ori’s fee, to his stern approval. Tullus fussed with his robe before he leaned back onto his cane, talons shaking in age. “I’m only reminding Kolyat of the rules. There are no exceptions, even for regulars.”

“The rules need changing,” Selai replied, exhaling another puff. “We’re a board game club, yeah? First move is always free.”

Ori used the moment to drop a stack of patix boards by our tables, a perfect segue to the conversation. “Depends on the game, surely,” she said, smiling at us. “In chess, an opening gambit is not as cheap as you think.”

It was a smart answer. Ori already pegged Selai both for a gambler and an ally, and her choice of words clearly delighted him. “I can afford it,” he said. “If I gave a Dalatress’s pisstreak about chess, and I don’t.”

“Oh, it’s not my game either,” she replied. “It was my father’s, though.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, a salarian’s double blinking once he worked something out. “Well now, Newblood. I’m Selai, this is Leki- we’ve not met, have we? He won’t talk, don’t try bothering.” Selai nodded at his brother. “It’s his thing. What do you play?”

“That depends on who’s asking,” she said, pretending to think about it. Selai laughed until he coughed, a horrible wet sound thanks to his constant smoking. “But my favourite game is Go, it’s a mix between patix and semak. No one knows it exists outside of Earth, chess seems to be the only thing translated.”

“Shame,” Selai said, long fingers scratching a chinless neck. “How hard can it be, anyway? Human board games are as simple as they come.”

At that I snorted. “Harder than you think.”

“Huh.” Selai flicked his gaze to me, another cigarette still jammed in his mouth. “You been teaching Kolyat your game, then? He’s terrible at semak too.”

I could only splutter a reaction, but Ori gave me a knowing look. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” she said.

Selai laughed another one of his racking coughs, the cigarette still jammed in his mouth. “I hope you mean boardgames, otherwise we’re all in for an awkward time.”

“My favourite kind,” she replied. To Ori, flirting came as easy as breathing, even towards middle-aged salarians. I had nothing to worry about. Obviously.

Tullus rapped his cane before speaking, a polite double tap into the conversation. “As I see it, you’re allowed to stay for the session,” he told her. “Since your fee is paid. But make sure you fill in the form for a membership after.”

Ori looked at me in query. “Consider it a return for the tea you brought me earlier,” I replied.

I knew the credits would be in my account when I checked, Ori hated owing money. “Thank you. And I can fill that in now, if you send over the details.”

It seemed following club protocol had warmed up Tullus. “I’m especially fond of chess, you know,” he told her, watching as Ori’s fingers worked her omni-tool. “We play it often at the club. A good human contribution to the galaxy, as I see it.”

“So’s blackjack,” his Selai replied, looking at me. “I like a few hands every now and then. If you’re interested.”

Tullus rapped his cane once more, a loud thump on the ground. “You are already on a verbal warning, Selai Vord. The club has no gambling licence, a point I remind you of too often for my liking.”

“I know the rules,” Selai replied, flinching at the reply. “Calm down, don’t crack your plates. ”

If C-Sec has taught me anything, is that being told to calm down barely worked on anyone. Ori spoke over the glaring before anything could escalate, her hands behind her back as she smiled. “We can play a game now, if you like,” she said.

Selai snorted. “_Pah_, no. Rather shove a pawn up a nostril.”

She meant the challenge for Tullus; he raised a crinkled brow at the thought. “I know chess well, you must have a board here,” she added. “That is, if you want to.”

He squinted again at the ‘newblood,’ a human puzzle to work out. “Hmm? Oh. I’m meant to partner with Gerit for a patix session.” Tullus tapped his cane once, a final reply. “Well, I suppose we can play a quick match as a proper introduction- make sure you understand club protocol, while we’re at it.”

I’m sure Ori could work out the _protocol_ with once glance of the hall, it didn’t take much. “I read the rules before I came,” she said, pushing her hair behind an ear to cover a smile. “But I probably missed something.”

Tullus leaned back in approval. “A reminder never hurts.”

A chessboard was soon found from the jumbled collection of games from the club’s storage, and I could see Ori offering her closed fists over the table to him before they even set it up. “Pick,” she said.

The perks of coming here meant solid playing pieces in our hand -no holograms, no omni-tools- even if it was only cheaply-made plastic. A shaking talon tapped her right, and black was revealed. “Bah. You have the advantage,” he said.

“A myth,” she replied. “Black has certain countervailing advantages, actually. That white starts first can be a burden too. Either players get lazy, or try too hard to win.”

“Interesting,” Tullus’s side eye meant he didn’t believe a word of it.

Ori reached for the piece to take it back. “I can take black, if you prefer. I don’t mind what side I play.”

Tullus put the piece on his side of the board before she could. “No, no. Those are the rules.”

She had sat up straight, her back to me. I was at a strange loss, Ori being here. Usually by now I would’ve found something to do, some game to play. For now I faltered, unsure what to do with myself.

Juter touched my arm to get my attention. For a tall woman, she moved silently on padded feet. “I’m in the mood for patix,” she said, a gentle tone compared to her husband’s constant bluster. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” I said, tearing my eyes away from their chessboard.

We set up on the table over from from Selai’s, the only space left. He was already on his fifth semak game of the night, another cigarette jammed under his lip. “Not at the tables,” Juter reminded him. “I’ve told you several times about your tobacco habit. Carry on and I’ll ask you to leave.”

Selai took a long drag before pinching the end with his fingers. “Yes ma’am,” he said, a lazy salute with one finger. “You want to play, Kolyat? Leki is useless, as usual. So are you, but I’m bored of his mistakes.”

His silent brother rolled his eyes, but took the insult in silence. “With an offer like that- no,” I said. “I’m playing patix.”

I set my army on the rivers and hills of my match with Juter, plastic pieces on a chipped board. Unlike human chess, in patix the opening move was always an advantage; since she ‘declared war’ by asking me to play, my side would be defending.

I liked the game, but I was too curious about Ori’s chess match to properly focus. Tullus was good enough to beat me at most of our chess sessions; how she would do against him was the peculiarity.

_-Papa said it was a game for working backwards,’ she said, solemn now. ‘It took me awhile to understand the logic.’ I held her hand and she smiled at the gesture. ‘Most people think it’s the other way around for chess. There’s only so many opening moves, and-_

Chess held many memories for her, but I‘d never once seen her play it. Why she challenged Tullus to something she wasn’t fond of was another curiosity; I knew she was using it to manipulate, the question was if she would win or not.

“Your move,” Juter said. She moved her second piece, a gentle smile over the board.

“I know.”

Juter was usually quiet when she played, but her green eyes lingered over my shoulder where Ori sat, a slow meandering gaze back to mine. “It’s nice to see a new face,” she said, and I could see make a connection. “Tully thinks the same too, he just has his ways. Is she in C-Sec too?”

I answered in truth. “She works in charity. I don’t know if she will become a regular member, her job with Kellam’s keeps her busy.”

“We can convince her to come back, this club is special.” We played in silence again for a stretch, until Juter chuckled at something. “He’s impressed, you know.”

I looked up at Ori, staring at her own board in a frown. Tullus stared at his own side just as intently, plated face as grim as ever. “By Ori?”

She nodded once. “He looks grumpy, but I know he’s pleased. Tully’s not had a good match in awhile.”

Only his wife was allowed to call Tullus ‘_Tully_,’ none of us would dare. “She’s a good opponent. Usually plays to win.”

The thought pulled me into my own attempt at a game; my rivers were too open and in sore need of a defence. I moved a general back to a safer hill, far away from Juter’s oncoming slaughter of my soldiers.

Juter frowned at my counter, gnarled plates creasing her brow. Unlike her husband’s constant use of the gesture, she still looked kind- I wondered if she truly got angry.

“You sounds like you spar regularly,” she said, smiling now.

“Perhaps.”

The truth was heavy on my tongue. Even though I told Ori there was no need to lie about what we were, I still faltered in the act. She was my girlfriend, of course she was; it’s just the meaning of the word was harder to explain, especially to outsiders.

Ori was something to me. She was the extroverted human I met at a party: the one who knew what the name Krios meant, truly; the one who slipped herself into my day-to-day, easy as you please; the one I fucked against walls, blunted teeth at my throat-

_-her thighs were in my arms, warm and heavy as-_

_Oh gods_. We did that. Arashu spit in my eye, why? I_ know_ why, of course I did- but if we’re caught there would be fuss.

I would access the camera feeds to check after the meeting. I was certain there was no camera in the storage cupboard, but-

“You can’t fool me,” said Juter, an indulgent smile on her plated face. “I see the way you look at each other. No one needs a translator for that.”

She looked at me like I was only an errant grandchild, and not as the adult that defiled her community centre; Juter didn’t know a gods damn thing, we were safe.

“Ori often wins our games when we’re together,” I replied, clearing my throat. “I don’t mind.”

Juter’s eyes were still warm with affection. Grandmother was universally understood no matter where you came from, and whatever she saw in me was enough for her to work something out. “Good for you, Kolyat. She seems a capable girl.”

I leaned back in my chair, one more reply away from an indulgent frill pinch. It seemed I was in the clear from any more questions, but I still twitched at the mention of my first name.

No one called me Krios here. Even Tullus used my given name; the culture of C-Sec meant I was a Krios more often than not, and hearing Kolyat said even outside of work had become a novelty.

To the club, I was the quiet drell who did the heavy lifting and played patix— not a detective, nor a Krios. All they cared about was the game between us and the moves I made. Even if I stumbled into a conversation, it was light years away from the darkness of my job.

_-good game, Kolyat,’ Tullus said, smiling. ‘We can play again, if-_

The club was not exactly a steady recurrence in my life thanks to the constant overtime, but it was enough for me. “I’m glad she came,” I said.

“So am I. He’s losing,” Juter said, ruthlessly attacking my advisor. She had crossed the river into my territory, but our game still had a ways to go.

She meant Tullus, not me. “Interesting.”

I assumed Ori would let him win, a casual match of diplomacy. Instead she met my gaze from across the room and smiled as I looked for her, blue eyes sharp with the same mischief that got us in trouble.

“It is.” Juter had watched me turn around to stare, a defeated soldier piece in her talons.

I took the hint. I was entrenched in bolstering my decaying fortress lines when Ori won her chess match, a softly said _checkmate_ tossed to the side.

The occasion was momentous enough for the hall to notice. Tullus rarely lost, especially to a familiar game; I knew he had played chess for a decade now, regularly beating even humans at their own invention.

Not long enough for Oriana Lee. Tullus stared at the board before he spoke, blinking at the loss. “Well. Well played,” he said, rising slowly from his seat.

“You almost had me,” she replied, standing up to meet him halfway. We all watched as she was saluted by the gnarled hand of Tullus, turian protocol for a game well played; I propped a fist over my mouth to stop the smile.

Ori offered a human hand in response. “If you’re free for another match later, I’m game,” Tullus said, shaking it.

The novelty of the club’s director losing was enough for Selai to lean over our table again, the stench of his old cigarette smoke overwhelming. I knew my own _se’aus_ habit repulsed some, but at least it didn’t smell as bad as gods damn cigarettes.

“Where did you find her, then?” he asked, ignoring my grimace. “What else does she play? I need the advantage.”

“Ask her yourself,” I replied, back to my own battle with Juter. I played to win too, and countered her aggression with a forceful move of my own.

Selai grinned and jammed a fresh cigarette in his mouth. “I will after my smoke. Which I’m not doing at the tables like a good nephew, before you mention it.”

I was close to losing my own game, should I let it. Three moves cleared out my river, but my frontline soldiers were sacrificed. Out of the corner of my eye, the purple blur of Ori hovered beside my chair, but I refused to look up from the board.

“Selai wants someone to play semak with him,” I said, frowning at my cornered advisor on the board. “If you want.”

“Ah hah. The game he said you can’t play.” At my chuff of annoyance, she laughed. “I’m not sure I can defend your honour, but I promise I’ll try.”

“Hmm.” She was gone before I could say anything else.

“You didn’t offer your congratulations,” Juter said. “Tully will be talking about the loss for awhile, I can tell. Ever since his human friend chose to stay in Sol, he’s missed a decent chess player. What was his name again? Brought that lovely daughter of his sometimes, it was nice to see.”

“Li Nguyen,” I replied. Juter was talking for the sake of it, I knew she remembered. “There are plenty of extranet sites for chess, they can still play together.”

“That’s not the same as being in the same club, and you know it. But I’ll remind Tully to keep in touch, he misses his friend.”

“We all miss something,” I replied. I said it deliberately, a decisive full stop to end the chatter.

“I know.” It was said quietly, and I felt like an ass.

I was not close enough to know what she lost, but could understand why. She spoke quietly sometimes of a family, a son and daughter- but who knew what the Reapers took.

“I’ve found that the Sea is good at taking who it wants from the shore, with no apology for the theft,” I said, folding my hands on the table.

Her eyes dipped in melancholy, but only briefly. “Fitting idiom,” she said. “Especially for patix. Rivers take what they want as well,” she said, tapping the board. “Plenty of soldiers lost to the cause. It’s still your move, Kolyat.”

It was a tight match. I was annoyed I had let it spiral out of my control, distracted by Ori’s game. I heard her laughter on the other side of the room, something Selai said amused her.

The pair of them sat down heavily near our game, hardly quiet. “I need a reminder,” she told Selai. “I’ve not played semak since I was a child.”

“Easy to learn, hard to master. Pick a colour,” he said.

“Purple,” she replied, in an instant. Of course she did. 

I would’ve made a pithy comment on the choice, but I wanted to win. I was going to- end game in patix was always faster than the beginning, and I had memorised several matches worth of play.

I knew what to do, and did it without thinking. It took me twelves moves to victory, my one lone soldier unseating her primarch in a pincer move.

Juter did not stand to salute like her husband, but still managed the gesture across the table. “For the cause,” she said, handing me the defeated playing piece. “Well played, Kolyat. But I have to deal with the kava machine now, it’s break time soon.”

I was now free to watch Ori lose, patix board tided away. A semak game was like its salarian inventors; short lived but intense, a battle for territory with oddly shaped tokens slotted onto a hexagon board.

“Whoops,” Selai said to her, grinning at a mistake. “What did you do that for? Now look at what you made me do.”

“You sh- _scoundrel_,” she said, pointing at him. “I’ll get you.”

“Not today. You’re as bad as he is,” he replied, nodding at me. “But you got a firm grasp on attacking, Newblood. Just work on your defence.”

“Call me Ori,” she replied. “And I’ll get better.”

Selai looked at her. “Well. You’re not the worst I’ve seen,” he replied, squinting at something. “What do you do? You’re too clever for C-Sec.”

He smiled, but I did not dignify his comment with a response. Instead the bell for the kava break sounded, and the hall was filled with the sudden scraping of chairs, an entire club in search of a free drink.

We dutifully formed a queue by the kitchen door, standing in line with Selai and his brother. “Not a detective like he is, then?” he asked.

“I work for Kellam Industries,” Ori replied, shifting on her boots. I had a feeling her feet hurt; her fault for wearing ten centimetre heels, but humans weren’t the tallest of species. Neither were drell, but we were taught to stand in the shadows- not meet the galaxy in the eye.

“Are they the ones that help refugees?” he asked, squinting down at her. “The ones who go outside C-Space for charity work and get shot at by pirates. You a doctor, then? Handy.”

“No, just an engineer. We also build colonies and infrastructure, which is my department.”

“You’re a structural engineer! I knew it was something like that,” Selai said, wide mouth grinning. “I suppose the universe always needs plumbers. I’m pure math- information theory and signal processing, mainly.”

I knew some of the words Selai said, but could understand a casual insult when I heard one.

“Oh good, something vaguely useful.” Ori spoke out before I could. “For one moment I thought you were going to say you work in finance.”

“Leki here does statistics, but there’s always one in the family.” Leki gave him a long suffering huff, his brother’s constant silent shadow. “Nice to have the approval of an engineer, that’s good for the soul. I’ll put it on the resume.”

Ori held out her hand before any of us could get a word in. “A mathematician and an engineer are staying in a hotel, and it catches fire-”

“Oh come on, this one is as old as the Protheans,” Selai replied, throwing his hands in the air. His brother hit him.

Ori smiled at the gesture. “The engineer wakes up and discovers her bed is burning. She rushes to the sink, fills a bucket of water, dumps it on the bed and puts out the fire. She goes back to sleep on the waterlogged bed, safe and sound.”

“What about the rest of the hotel, where are the emergency services?” I asked. “Why did she go back to bed?”

“Hush, you. That’s not the point I’m trying to make,” Ori replied, smiling at me.

Selai cackled. “You ruined her joke.” She pointed a finger at him and he pinched his mouth with a thin hand. “I’m sorry, go on.”

“_Meanwhile_, the mathematician wakes up, and discovers his bed is on fire-possibly from an unattended cigarette. He looks over, sees the ice bucket, concludes there's a solution... and goes back to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah. And he burned to death because engineers do all the heavy lifting of the galaxy.” Leki nodded in silence, amused.

We had reached our place in the queue. Ori helped herself to two candy bars from the snack crate, while I poured us some tea. I walked our bounty back to the tables with a steady hand, weaving between the chattering crowds of the club. “You took the last Thriztix bar,” Selai said, frowning. “Don’t deny it, I saw. Fight you for it over a game.”

“Engineers get things done,” she replied, ignoring the challenge. “Can’t theorise homes and solid infrastructure out of thin air, things need to be built. _However_.” She snapped the last Thriztix bar in half and gave a piece to Selai, a gesture of goodwill. “You build the ideas, and I build the systems. We need to stick together, we have a common enemy,” she said, looking at me.

Selai finished his candy in one bite. “What, Kolyat? Not really, he’s terrible at semak.”

“Charming,” I replied, ignoring the booted foot currently nudging mine in apology under the table.

Selai squinted at her. “Do you mean the liberal arts? You hardly seem the sort to take issue, what with the-” he vaguely waved at her, and she laughed. “You know. The purple.”

“I will defend the arts to my death.” Ori took a delicate bite out her half. “I meant politicians,” she said, a hand over her mouth. “I’d get so much done without them and their stupid, pointless red tape.”

“Who needs health and safety anyway?” he replied.

“I’m friends with procedure. I mean the usual broken promises and disappearance of funds.” Ori scowled in disgust. Her vitriol was decidedly not theatrics, of that I was quite certain.

“The same is said in C-Sec too,” I replied. “If they let us do our jobs with the things we’ve been promised, efficiency would double. All talk and no action is the usual, no matter what you do.”

“Seems to me that all talk and no action is what C-Sec does no matter what,” Selai said, looking at me.

The tone changed. Suddenly I was the cop and not Kolyat, but I was too tired to argue my corner. Leki could at least read a room, and duly hit Selai around the horns; he might not speak, but his opinion was enough.

_-sometimes it’s thankless,’ Patel said. ‘But sometimes you get a case where you think you made a difference, and-_

I thought of my team back at the precinct. We were underpaid, understaffed and overworked, but even T'Lori tried his best. “All the officers I know try to work with what we have,” I replied. “I know the faults of the system intimately. We all do.”

“He’s a good cop,” Ori said. She wriggled her eyebrows, an arm looped through mine. “I’m the bad one.”

It was a terrible joke, but it smoothed over the mood. This was the most I had talked to Selai in the months I had come, and I knew it was because of her.

“I suppose a professional plumber is welcome to our merry band of reprobates,” he said, looking at Ori. “This club is full of oddities y’know? But that’s board games for you, drags out all sorts- even shy little drell like him. Where did you two meet, anyway?”

“Who says I’m shy?” I said, ignoring the question.

Selai’s horns bobbed as he nodded at his brother, tying the discarded candy wrapper in a tidy knot. “You’re quieter than he is, and he’s mute,” he said. “Board games attract either the hyper nerds, or the lonely souls. It’s a social interaction with clear boundaries and rules, perfect for both.”

Ori wiped her hands on her napkin before speaking again. “I’ve not thought of them like that,” she said, shoving her cup to one side. “I know they’re called _games_, but it was homework for me. I’ve always thought of them as a lonesome thing- especially chess, your thoughts are the loudest thing you’ll hear, even when you play with a real person.”

Selai shrugged. “Part of the reason I like poker and semak so much. You can talk at the tables, no problem. It becomes a weapon.”

“Trash talking is a separate skill. And I know you can count the cards too,” she said, smiling at me. “Got to put that pure math to some use, might as well be gambling.”

“He’s banned from Silversun Strip for that,” I replied, to his brother’s silent laughter.

“Now look here, what I did was not a crime. All I did was work out the dealer’s algorithm in my own free time-”

Before Selai could indignantly defend himself further, my omni-tool announced itself loudly.

My work line always did.

“Oh no,” Ori said. “Again?”

I knew it was Hoorik from the line code; she was calling from the precinct. “I’ll be back.” I walked outside to take the call, leaning against the graffitied wall of the community centre. “Detective Krios speaking,” I said.

“I’m going to need you to come in.”

There was a pause. Hoorik did not apologise; she never did, because that implied the interruption would only be a one-off, that C-Sec would never encroach in the parts of my life I kept hidden from work.

“Why?” I asked. I was allowed to.

“Because another victim of the mould has been found, this time alive,” she said. “Moira Estrada. Human, in her fifties and under heavy sedation in an intensive care unit.”

“Fuck,” was my measured, intelligent response. “Human?”

At that she laughed, even though there was no humour. “Apparently it’s cross-species now. I’ve been reassured from CSI this is not actually a pandemic, _actually_,” Hoorik replied. “But it is nudging itself into being a Ward bio-hazard. I need you in to help with the mess before the press catch wind of something.”

Two victims, two species, double the pressure. “Same circumstances as the first? Injected into the bloodstream?”

“Apparently, they found infected needle marks in the arm. You’re safe to visit the hospital, but to be honest I’m reluctant to let you get close. No matter what the doctors say.”

“It’s not contagious,” I said it like a statement, but Hoorik’s reaction unnerved me.

“Both CSI and the hospital have said it’s not, several times. The victim is a fighter, according to staff nurse I spoke to. But she’s not out of the woods.” I got the gist, Hoorik was fond of using that particular phrase- we all picked up on each other’s idioms eventually. “Moira is in a medical coma, I’m not sure what good it’ll do you even visiting- but it’s a start.”

Curiosity got the better of me. The case felt like the tip of a shit pile that threatened to slide my way if I didn’t stop it in time, so might as well start now. “I’ll come in,” I said. “I’m at the park at the moment. I just need to change.”

“Your board game club.” Hoorik knew about that, but not Ori. Nor will she, not yet.

“It’s nearly over anyway,” I replied. Someone else can put away the tables and chairs, I’d done my community service for the day.

“Patel can pick you up if you need it.” She paused again, long enough for me to question it. “_Usch_. I wouldn’t ask if I had to,” she said, filling in the gap before I could. “Ten days without a proper break is not... ideal.”

“I’m fine.” The words of my superior were pleasant enough, but I could yearn for downtime all I want- what I had was entirely different.

“I have an overtime request in your name already, signed for by a DI over in Kithoi. You’ve been busy I see, I’ll make sure it’s paid. Like today will be, too.”

I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “They assumed I could help,” I replied. “I didn't do much.”

She cleared her throat. “Whatever you did, DI Uhthoon is very complimentary.” Hoorik sighed again, and this time I could hear how tired she really was. “I’m sorry, Krios, what a mess I shoved you in. It’s a shit show, but it’s ours. Let’s get it done.”

The line went dead in a click. I stared at my arm, watching the disconnected line.

_Hoorik actually apologised._

As soon as I walked back into the main hall, somehow Ori knew I would be leaving. “No. You need a break,” she said, glaring at me. “You’ve not had a day off in two weeks. Do you have to go?”

She knew the answer. Why did she ask? “No one else can.”

“Nothing bad, is it?” Selai said, curious at the call. Everyone was always interested in what C-Sec got up to.

“Not yet,” I lied. “But I have to go in. Say goodbye to Tullus and Juter for me.”

“I can manage that for you. Stay safe,” he replied. I looked over my shoulder and frowned; both brothers looked concerned, a gentle surprise.

“I always do.”

Ori followed me out without a word. We walked past the cupboard we defiled with barely an eyeblink; as days off could go, so far I had a good one.

Her hand found mine as we stood outside the community centre, fussing with the zip of my vest with the other. “We do this a lot,” she said. “Standing by doors.”

Her words were only a vague pinch of guilt, but I still felt it. “It’s my job.”

“I know.” She kissed me on the chin to soothe over the mood. An Ori thing; I soon learnt it was a strange tic of hers, and not a normal human gesture of affection. “How long this time?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a mess.” That’s all I would give her- I wouldn’t share the implications of the mould case, not yet.

“Poor you.” My hand was squeezed. “We can meet tomorrow. If you can.”

What I wanted was for her to stay the night again. For her to be there when I got home, a pure, selfish thought.

“I’d like that.” I looked around, no one was watching us. I pulled her to me for a short hug, the scent of her hair lingering. “Take care of yourself, _orishen_.”

“I always do.” My own words were a weapon in her hands, but she kissed me anyway.

_-we’re right where we’re meant to be-_

We were alone again. If only a moment- but the thought remained.

It was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't claim credit for completely inventing the alien board games. As Kolyat says in a previous chapter, there's only so many ways you can move a playing piece around- there has to be some cultural divergences between the species. The turian patix Kolyat and Juter played is very loosely based on Xiangqi (with a focus on rivers/water being a huge obstacle) and the salarian semak Oriana and Selai played is based on Blokus, a kind of physical tetris you play against an opponent. 
> 
> Chapter updates are now going to be every two weeks; work is getting busy. As usual, comments are amazing- let me know if you're still reading!


	12. Intensive Care

It didn’t take long to reach the precinct by foot and become Detective Krios. I kept a spare sidearm and uniform in my locker for a reason, but it was always the switch from my regular boots that inconvenienced me the most.

My backup pair were old and heavily worn from my constable days, an Alliance design meant for human soldiers; when I passed my detective exam, I made the switch to a lighter fit, finally giving into ergonomics. I now wore something made for a drell’s flatter foot, relieved of the chafe of human boots.

I was still fond of them, despite the initial pain. They meant something to me; parts of the tread were even bare from the constant walking and running from my old patrols, a badge of honour to a constable.

_-my heart thudded with each slap of my foot, along the decaying keeper tunnel. I would catch them- I knew this place, I _knew_ it. The path would lead to the industrial walkways, right by the ice factory, where-_

I had earned these boots. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out, to donate them to the refugee camps, to leave them at the apartment. Instead they lived at the back of my work locker, a suitable home for what they were.

Officers were often superstitious about boots and armour, but nobody liked the official C-Sec stab vests. I laid mine out on the bench beside me, a grimace at the thought of wearing it. I always put it on for last, but when I did I was Detective Krios again- the pinching weight saw to that.

I had my running suit around my ankles before I realised someone was watching my routine, which was as pleasant as you think it would be for a mixed-species locker room.

Of course it was Patel doing the staring. “How was your day off?” he asked, a datapad tucked under his arm. “Thought I’d find you here.”

The uncomfortable feeling of Patel’s company chafed me more than a stab vest ever could, but somehow I still answered him. “Excellent work. It’s almost as if you’re a detective.”

He smiled, a crooked line on his face. “Such a good boy, coming in to help. You’ve done us all proud.” Patel flicked on the datapad, large eyebrows pinched in thought. They looked like giant insects moving across his forehead, so different to Ori’s neatly penciled lines.

“Can this wait?” I asked, yanking up my work pants with a snap.

The pungent, damp smell of a locker room was hardly the place to talk about anything, but Patel ignored my protests. “Thought I’d fill you in before we leave,” he said. “So you’re all caught up.”

At least it was an incentive to dress fast. “Does that mean you found something else?”

He sucked the air through his teeth before answering, a hesitant sound. “Maybe, just ticking boxes. CSI Siks is meeting us at the hospital, but is running late- as usual. I thought we could go over the Phoy Callisi’s timeline in the meantime, there are patches missing.”

“Did you at least start on the camera feeds?” I had sent him a possible route of her last walk home last night, right before I left to deal with another thrice-fucked case over on Kithoi.

Patel put a hand over his heart. “Oh, _at least_\- from the bar to her apartment, found nothing suspicious. It was hard though, without your beautiful chin to guide the way. Would Sir like to go over the report now, or later?”

We were the same rank, but he winked anyway. I closed the fastenings of my stab vest and ignored him, the final stage of my uniform. “The friends at the bar she was meant to meet, did they add anything useful? I assume you’ve talked to one.”

“All three. They’re upset, which is understandable. Good alibi, too. They sat at the bar all night and drank themselves silly in plain view of bar staff.”

_-circles of patterns on her blue skin. Something Thessian, edged in black. Hidden beneath a layer of grey mould, previously unseen from the autopsy table-_

I could recount the victim’s pathology report word for word if I wanted to, but I knew Patel had read it this morning too. “They know about the tattoo?” I asked.

“Not an _inkling_,” he said, laughing at something. I frowned. “Interesting, isn’t it? My money’s on that being something, but the needle marks in the arm could be it too. The tattoo might just be a mid-life crisis, not an entry point.” Patel frowned, the datapad tucked under his arm. “How many of those do asari get, do you reckon? One’s enough for me.”

It was still something. “Tattoos mean something else to them. Less... negative connotations than there is to certain humans. Drell too.”

Patel tutted. “That’s a sweeping statement, if I ever heard one.”

He had a point. To the old guard of my kind, body modifications outside of the socially acceptable frill piercings and lip paints were seen as garish, a show of something you were not. Only the uncouth would change the colour of their scales, or paint themselves in a youth’s iridescence. It seemed like such a pointless thing to worry about, all things considered. Who really cared about scale dyes and body shimmer?

It turned out, quite a few. Somehow a thread of the old moral coding still clung to the remaining drell of Kahje, despite the influence of a galaxy. An apocalypse made them tug at priests robes even harder, to seek the light of the Enkindlers embrace, to understand something in the pain of survival.

The change unsettled me. My own feelings towards gods and monsters were already muddled from the mess; I could, if I wanted to be spite the old guard, paint the scales of face with kohls and pastes, even bloom them in illuminessence; I _could_, but I had better things to do with my mornings than stare at a mirror.

_-I watched as Ori painted one eyelid in a swathe of soft purple, lips pursed together. ‘You watching my vanity?” she asked, and I kissed her shoulder in a silent reply. ‘Cute, but shoo-_

“There was a guy in my old squad who could make a go-go boy dance when he flexed his muscles, or so he thought.” Patel said, smiling at my frown. “Looked like the poor lad had lumbago. I must be the only Alliance grunt free of ink, it was popular when I wore the uniform.”

It still was. Most humans on shore leave were covered in something- an inked allegiance to their squad, their legion, their colony, their cat. Callisi’s tattoo spoke of something else, though. “If I were a betting man,” I said, “my credits are firmly on it being religious.”

Patel smiled at a struggling constable fighting with his locker before he spoke. “Always a safe bet. Looked like a chakra to me- maybe a dharma wheel,” he said. I had no idea what a _dharma_ was, but assumed it was human.

Both of us sidestepped an errant sports bag before we left the locker room, finally leaving the fetid air to breathe in the stale kava smell the precinct’s hallway instead. “You haven’t started on the tattoo yet?” I asked.

“No time, what with the interviews. I assumed a nice well-to-do sort like Mother Calisi would never use a Lower Wards joint to get her ink, but-”

_-the heavily tattooed woman looked at me over her drink, laughing at something. ‘Yeah, you your Daddy, alright. Same stiff back, same stare-_

The tattoo was a thread I wanted to pull at. “I have an idea where to start. I can take it.”

Patel cleaned an ear with a finger, flicking whatever he found with a grimace. “That leaves me with watching transport vid-feeds for her journey home, does it? Not fair.”

I refused to back down. “I did my share of that last night. On my evening off.”

He looked at me, a pretence at a sigh. What Patel wanted was a quiet spot to sit down and police from a desk for the rest of the shift, but still pretended to think about it.

“On one condition,” he said. “Hoorik is insistent we go interview Phoy Calisi’s neighbours again, thinks the constables missed something in the fuss.”

My booted feet back out on Zakera’s streets was fine by me. “Deal.”

There was no time to even check my desk DI Hoorik insisted on walking us both to the skycar, a pair of errant schoolboys escorted out of class. Bats watched us go with a sarcastic salute, the rest of the precinct parting like a panicked shoal of fish.

The grim face of DI Hoorik was partly to blame. “Make sure you get something official out of the doctors we can use, even if you have to pin them down,” she said, coffee mug still in her hand. “And keep it clean, yes?”

We sat by the open doors of my cruiser. Hoorik made no effort to leave, coffee placed on the roof. “Ma’am?” I asked, nervous of the stains.

She sighed. “_Usch_. I want this case over with, too many people want to know what’s going on. I had to deal with Health and Safety twice today. The precinct captain is far too intrusive, and the Council Liaison called too- I cannot afford to assign anyone else to this, it’s on you both.”

_-been promoted to Council Liaison,’ Bailey said, bitterly, staring at the dregs on his whiskey. ‘Mouth of the Council, what an honour. It’s all a load of horseshit-_

I itched to check my mail. I knew then that Bailey found out the mould victim was my case- especially if he had talked to Hoorik. He always kept an eye on me, but it would be lying if I said I never used him to get an angle on a case from time to time.

_-you can always come to me,’ he said, a hand on my shoulder. ‘I can be your family, if you want it. I mean it, boy-_

Sometimes the familiarity chafed.

“What an honour we have,” Patel said, adjusting the seat barriers. That got him a glare from our DI. She bent down, just so he could see it, and I leaned back. “That was heartfelt, Ma’am. We won’t let you down.”

The ride to the hospital was free of fuss, the reminder of Hoorik’s glare almost a passenger. Patel focused on reading out all we had on Moira Estrada, the second victim of the strange mould. An accountant for a Citadel gym chain, rich enough for the Upper Wards and to keep two vacation homes- one on Earth, one on Demeter. A seventeen year old daughter named Sally-Ann was listed as her next-of-kin, a name Patel snorted at.

“Same economic status as Phoy Calisi,” I replied. Moira was held in a forced medical coma to recover from her surgeries, decay cut before it spread to healthier organs. “We can see if the doctors have better luck than CSI at explaining how it got there.”

Easier said than done. We weren’t allowed to see Moira, not while she was in recovery. We were made to wait even after two visits through the decontamination chamber, stuck outside the hushed space of the Intensive Care Units in a waiting room no species found comfortable.

The hallways stunk of the same fucking cleaner hospitals always used, our uniformed presence an unsettling eyesore compared to the gentle pastel walls and hushed quiet. Sometimes a polite alarm would sound over our heads, a rhythmic beeping to break the silence. Staff would rush in pairs at the signal, sliding through the double doors towards patients we couldn't see.

The trips were often quick. “Just a blood pressure drop,” an asari nurse said to us, to Patel’s questioning smile to her sudden reappearance. “It happens.”

“That’s good. I was wondering how long-“

The nurse didn’t stop. Patel sighed and lifted himself off the chair to follow her, booted feet echoing down the hall.

_-the doctor made me sit down. I knew then, what the news would be, just by the tired softness of his eyes. ‘Your father is out of surgery. We managed to stop the bleeding, but-_

“Thrice fuck this.”

I leaned back and stared at the scrolling holo of the painting, a Thessian sunrise fading to a Surkesian sea.

_-my arm throbbed where they took the blood. They asked me to come in, so I did. The Citadel was a flaming trash can of chaos, the hospital packed with the injured. A bruise blossomed under my scales, I poked it anyway-_

My finger traced where the ghost of the pain lingered, trapped under the padding of my uniform. Patel came back and sat down next to me, and I snapped myself out of it. “Meeting is in half an hour, nurse is making sure the doctor knows we’re waiting. Make yourself comfy, I would.”

“Gods dammit. Why are we even here?” Even CSI Siks had yet to appear- it all seemed like a monumental waste of effort just sitting here, all the while the minutes between the alarms of the ICU ticked by in silence.

“You know, I ask myself everyday,” Patel replied, looking up from his omni-tool. “What’s it all for? What’s the point? And then I have a cup of chai, and get up. The answers to the universe can be found in my wife’s spice blend, especially after the fourth sip.”

My jaw tightened at another alarm. “Surely this can be done over a call. Where’s the doctor, anyway?” I asked, watching the staff rush past again.

Patel shrugged, smiling at my reaction. “Apparently it’s her rounds, according to the nice nurse. She liked you, I can tell. You should go talk to her.”

I refused to look up. I thought the asari that walked past was blandly polite, and more inclined to talk to Patel than to me. “I’ll do no such thing,” I told him.

“According to that lovely girl -her name is Shaena, by the way- Moira Estrada’s daughter is in the friends and family room. Not left yet.”

Interviewing anything was better than sitting on our ass and staring at flickering holoposters. We could wait around for this mythical doctor to appear, or we could pass the time with something constructive.

“Better than nothing,” I said.

We didn’t have to go far to find her. Sally-Ann Estrada was not alone in her wait, curled into a human boy her age. At first glance the pair of them looked like duct rats; their clothing was utilitarian and ripped, but still clean. Sally had even drawn something on her pants, a handmade symbol I recognised from a band even Ori grimaced at.

But they were well-fed, skin free of lesions and grime. Their boots were scuffed, but so were mine; they were just two mid-Ward kids, that was all, huddled around a datapad to watch a vid.

They took one look at us and scowled, not an unusual reaction to C-Sec uniforms. “I’m Detective Kolyat Krios,” I said, introducing myself. “This is my colleague, Detective Arjul Patel. Sorry to intrude, but I was hoping you could answer some questions concerning Moira Estrada.”

At our my introduction, the boy stood. His eyes were an odd pink, a cosmetic meddling. “We already spoke to the nurses, though,” he said. “Why can’t you talk to each other?”

“It’s better you tell us,” I replied.

Sally tugged his sleeve and he sat back down, hand tightly anchored back into hers. Humans held hands so strangely, always with fingers locked in place. “Salsa, I gotta go,” the boy said. “Unless you want me to stay?”

Salsa very much looked like she did. “You must be Sally, Moira’s daughter.” Patel sat down next to them, his hands on his knees. “Are you a friend?” he asked the boy, who snorted at the question.

An arm was draped over her shoulders. “She’s my girl,” he replied.

_-My Ori? Charming,’ she said, poking my chest. ‘I’m my own. What is it with you and possessive pronouns? Can’t I just-_

“What’s your name?” Patel asked him. The sounds of a shootout came from their still playing datapad, background noise from an action vid.

The question chafed him, pimpled jaw bunching up before he answered. “Thor.”

Patel grinned. “That’s a good name. Did you arrive by goat sled?” The reference sailed over my fins, but landed safely where it should. “We came by pigs, obviously.”

Thor grinned at my confusion. “Nah. Trams.”

I had no clue if what happened was a human joke or a Patel joke, but I knew C-Sec were pigs to humans. You soon get to know what you’re called before you’re spat on, but the context was lost to me.

“At least I didn’t ask where your hammer was,” Patel replied. “Well. Sorry to meet under these circumstances. C-Sec is never a welcome sight, I know.” He spoke to Sally, who stared at the inked mess of her pants. “I like your drawings, did you do them yourself? Very artistic.”

That got him a decisive eye roll, but at least they finally paused the vid. “Like we told the nurse,” said Thor. “She doesn’t know anything about her mom.”

So far Sally-Ann had said nothing. I took the hint and sat down next to her, following Patel’s gentle lead. “I’m sorry to ask you questions again, but something has made your mother very ill,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

Patel interrupted me before I could say anymore. “Are you okay with Thor being here, by the way?” he said, looking directly at Sally. “We have to ask.”

We both saw the possessive hand grip her shoulder. She nodded a confirmation, but something felt off. “She has a bacteria in her system and we’re unsure why,” I said, watching her curl into herself again, head on her knees. Her hair was a bright red even my colourblind eyes could spot, layered with a white stripes only seen in ultraviolet. “We’re trying to work out how it got there.”

Silence was our answer first. “Why do you think we would know about that?” Thor said, glaring at us.

His sudden defence, while understandable, was odd. Sally’s frowned confusion felt normal, and she finally lifted her head to speak. “What do you mean, put there?”

Her accent was pure human Citadel, nothing like Ori’s precise immigrant vowels or Patel’s musical tone. “Just that,” I said. “It is not a natural occurrence.”

“The nurses said she had an infection,” Thor replied, one eye on the door again.

I looked at Sally, the confusion was still there, but Patel cleared his throat to speak before I could. “Whatever has made your mom sick, had to be put into her body by a needle,” he said.

“Weird.” She worried her thumbs through matching holes of her sleeves, an odd gesture. “Mom’s got a vicious drug habit. It’s why I left.”

Thor laughed. We didn’t. “She has?” I asked, leaning forward. That Sally mentioned she left home was another thread to pull at, but the mention of drugs was something else.

Sally smiled at her boyfriend, but not at us. “No. Mom’s a fuckin’ accountant who collects doll statues and meditates every morning. She lost her shit when I brought back a Fishdog burger one time, said it was like eating poison.”

Oh. _Sarcasm_. “What about tattoos?” I asked, my hands folded on my lap. ”Do you know of any recent ink?”

“Mine or hers?” Sally snorted once. “The nurse said Mom got one, she always hated mine. Must’ve had it done after I moved out. ‘Don’t do as I do, do as I say.’ Hypocritical bitch.”

“Salsa never spoke to her mom for months.” Thor leapt to his feet again, bouncing on his heels; his pacing energy made Sally reach for him, unsure what to do. “Are we done? We know nothing.”

I took one look at the grip of her arm from his hand. “Just a few more questions,” I replied.

Wrong answer. Thor opened the door, intent on leaving, but Patel’s odd little smile made him stop. “Have you eaten?” he asked. “They never feed you in places like this. I’m sure C-Sec’s budget could stretch to something from the machines.”

I knew Patel would be paying out of his pocket for the snacks, but I also knew the man liked to feed people. I had several first-hand experiences of him doing exactly that, even going as far shoving food into my mouth.

_-I feed my daughter like this, stop moving. It’s a sign of affection,’ he said. I dodged another samosa from his hand-_

“Alright,” Thor said. “If C-Sec pays. But then I really gotta bounce.”

The food and drink machines were an awkward walk in silence, but Patel still clapped his hands at the sight of them. “It’s the older machines, we are in luck. There’s a knack to getting extra snacks, if you’re quick. Watch and learn the Patel technique.”

“Is it legal?” Sally asked, eyeing him curiously.

“I haven’t exactly checked,” Patel replied. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“It’s not,” I replied, leaning against the machine. I was already familiar ‘the Patel technique.’ If I was entirely honest with myself, I even used on a couple of occasions- but only when the machine had spat out the wrong order, a motive fuelled by spite.

Patel knelt by the machine interface with a dramatic sigh, stab vest creaking from the strain of his belly. “All these machines have an override. It’s different with each company, but this one is easy to remember. Connect your ‘tool once, click these options in order,” he said, showing his rapt audience. “And then hold down the refund option. Only have to pay for one item that way.”

He held out a finger as our bounty fell into the collection tray, a dull thunk of four ration bars. Sally stared at him, open-mouthed at the haul.

“Don’t steal too much,” I replied, a mild obligation.

“No fucking way.” Thor slapped him on the shoulder, shocked at a C-Sec officer had handed him a filched ration bar. “Are you for fucking real?”

“One hundred percent,” Patel replied, poking himself with a thumb. As Thor shoved half a bar into his mouth Patel smiled. “Are you going to stick around?” he asked. “You said you had to go. Or bounce. Or roll.”

Clever, clever Patel. He had picked up on what I did, some intuition of separating the pair, but I kept my surprise to myself.

Thor looked torn, half-swallowing to talk. “Yeah. You coming, Salsa?”

“We would appreciate five more minutes of your time,” I said, before she could answer. “That’s all.”

She looked at the bar in her hands before answering. “I guess.”

At her answer, Thor only shrugged. “Later, then.” He shoved the remains of the bar into his pocket with barely a thought, leaving her alone between us.

Sally looked at me before she ran after him, almost an apology at something. I silently counted the seconds as she pulled him to one side, their eyes on us both. “She’ll come back,” Patel said, a quiet reply.

“He’s something.”I looked away to speak, but they were too far away to hear anything.

“That’s one word for it, yes.”

We both watched as Sally tugged at his hand, only for it to be yanked back. They embraced, but not long enough for her; Thor held her shoulders to push her away before he left, a gentle shove to the side.

I stared at the ceiling while she gathered herself. “Let’s head back to the quiet room,” Patel said, once she reached us. “We won’t be long, I promise.”

Once we were seated again, Patel leaned forward. “Can you tell us anything about how your mother ended up here?” he asked.

Sally shrugged. “Not spoken to her in months.”

“Any particular reason?” I asked.

“Because she’s a cunt.” We both blinked at her phrasing, but had heard worse. “I’m only here ‘cause the hospital asked for plasma.”

_-my arm throbbed where they took the blood-_

“I understand,” I said. Before anyone else could speak, the door slid open to a gentle chime of interruption.

A salarian nurse stood politely by the threshold, not quite coming in. “Sorry. Dr. Hilaril has finished her rounds,” he said, a gentle hush to his tone. “It’s best you catch her before she goes to surgery. She’s by the desk waiting for you, along with Doctor Siks. One of yours, not ours.”

Patel looked at me. You don’t keep doctors waiting, not in hospitals. My responding nod was enough: _I’ll deal with this._

“Lead the way,” Patel replied, closing the door on the way out. In the silence, Sally worried another hole in her sleeve, refusing to look at me.

“I don’t know what happened between you and your mother,” I said. “I won’t judge your anger. But what she’s sick with, I don’t want that to happen to someone else. Something is in her system that could kill a frailer person.”

It already did. Phoy Callisi’s body was still in our labs, a pathological anomaly to solve.

Sally snorted again, a bitter sound. “Yeah? That’s Mom, constitution of a tank. Which is odd, as she never fucking eats.” She sighed, her hands finally disappearing into her sleeves. “I don’t know what you want from me, I know nothing. I left home a year ago, only speak through email.”

Age was relative to aliens, just like circumstance. “I left at seventeen too,” I told her. “Moved to Zakera as soon as I could.”

Sally flinched, unsure what to say. A C-Sec officer didn’t exactly overspill their life story, even as blandly stated as mine. “From the hanar world?” she asked.

Always the hanar’s world, never the drell’s. “Kahje, yes. I come from one of the domed cities. I don’t know why they called it that, it was more a farming community.”

My confession made her frown. “Do you keep in touch with your family?”

_-nice to hear from you anyway,’ Aunt Sema said, clearing her throat through the fractured line. ‘They’ve finally sold your parent’s old house. Someone finally brought it, don’t know who to, but-_

I always had my mother’s siblings in Enkindler’s Basket to return to, but my relationship with them was... strained. It was a fault we were both at blame for; I left without a word to them, barely responding to the: _Kolyat, come home _emails even after I had settled on the Citadel.

After the war I felt no inclination to visit, not even to return Father’s ashes to the Sea. I should have felt more guilty, but I never was. It was not as if they made a bigger effort, either; both of us only spoke out of a vague obligation, a polite memory of family.

I shrugged my answer first. “When I can, lack of a working relay makes everything a little harder. But I’m not going back- Zakera is my home now.”

Beneath her defiance was a soft flicker of something, a connection finally made. Sally’s eyes lit up at my words, a genuine warmth there. “Best Ward of the Citadel.”

“No arguments there.” I finally opened my contraband snack, the bar heavy in my jacket. “Do you miss your old place?”

“Why would I? Forty’s great,” she said, naming her level. Not quite the Lower Wards, but getting there. “I share a place with Thor and a few others. It’s not bad, but no heating sometimes. Landlord won’t do shit about it, either- says it’s the Council’s fault.”

Housing was often third hand on the Wards, nothing was owned for long. “Different to your mother’s apartment,” I said.

“_Better_.” The word resonated in the room, loudly spoken. Her confidence finally matched her outfit, and Sally had found her voice away from the shadows of her boyfriend. “Why did you leave, anyway?”

I shrugged again, a human reaction to mirror hers. “For a fresh start at something,” I told her. The reply sounded emptier than I wanted it to be.

“Like me,” she said.

“Not really.” My bluntness surprised her, but I finished my bar before speaking. “Your mother is still alive.”

At my reply Sally bristled, her mouth a tight line of anger. “Yeah, so everyone keeps on saying.”

“She’s not out of the woodland area, as my colleagues are fond of telling me. A danger still.”

She frowned at my choice words, then snorted. “I guess.”

Instead I groped with a landscape I was more familiar with. “You might live on the same Ward, but it can still feel like an ocean separates you both. It’s like that with family.”

_-father looked at my Community Service uniform with a frown, a black paint stain on an orange jumpsuit. ‘I have moved nearby,’ he said, a solemn proclamation. ‘Under a pseudonym, to keep you safe. Now that my duty to Shepard is done, I thought perhaps we could-_

I had no idea why I was so candid. I was with Soval Lukiad, too, recounting a personal memory with ease. Maybe it was the fact that I was in a hospital again, but I had recognised a tiny shred of something familiar, even in the pinched frown of her alien features.

Sally ignored my honesty anyway, intent on worrying another hole through her sleeve. “I’m always going to be her daughter, I know that- just not the one she wants me to be. Fuck her. If she wants to be a mom, she’s got to start acting like one. I’m not her toy.”

“I’m not here to force you to reconcile anything,” I replied. “But.” I swallowed the dry crumbs lodged in my throat, the memories a constant battering of waves in my skull.

She finally looked at me, trying to work out if what I had said was a personal truth or not. “But?”

“If you don’t talk to her about whatever it is you’re holding back -and you are holding something back- you’ll never move on. Because there will come a point when she’ll be gone, and whatever is inside you will fester.”

They were heavy words, even to my ears. “So I call her a bitch while she’s in a coma. It’s alright, she knows already.”

I cleared my throat before speaking, the grains of the ration bar like sand. “She might think differently, when she wakes up.”

“Fuck that, she can stay sleeping.” Sally looked at the floor. “I don’t care.”

I let the anger wash over me in silence before I replied. “Really?”

I was tired, for some reason. I needed my day off again; the Gods damn stench of a hospital had got to me, a headache forming in my brow.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed her flinch, a contrite wince at realising what she had said to a C-Sec Detective investigating her mother’s sudden decline. “No. I don’t know. I didn’t ask for any of this bullshit, I want to go home.”

Home to her cold apartment on the 40th level, and an unreliable boyfriend. Sally curled up in her seat, defeated by the weight of her anger. She looked younger, lost in the volume of her tattered clothes.

_-the blood, his blood stained my jacket as I lifted him from the desert rock, the sunset of New Mexico fading into dark. ‘Father, please. You fell, please, I can’t-_

I made no move to reach her, but my voice was enough to make her look. ‘I know you won’t believe me,” I said. “But there will come a point when she will realise you’re not a child anymore, you’ve changed. She hasn’t, but _you_ have.”

“No shit.” The face paint and UV hair dye and artfully ripped clothes were enough of a plainly stated truth, but sometimes the obvious needed voicing: Sally might control her appearance on the outside, but sometimes it took awhile for the reason why to catch up to the change. “She’s still a vampire, I owe her nothing. I gave up my plasma, what more do you want?”

I took a deep breath before speaking again. “To know how your mother got sick.”

“Not my problem.”

_-why should I care?’ I said, refusing to look at Bailey. ‘These people don’t give a shit, why should I-_

“I speak to all kinds of people everyday,” I said, my hands clasped my knees. “I sit at the table and listen to the terrible things they’ve done. Just everyday people you see on the tram like us, not like the monsters from the vids. There’s a common thread with them all- they all think it’s never their fault. Drugs, booze, their job, their parents. A shitty childhood, a fucked up start in life.”

_-C-Sec is letting us talk for a while,’ Father said, looking me in the eye. I remained cuffed to the table. He reached for my hand and I flinched-_

She snapped herself from the defensive curl of her seat. “That’s a cop thing to say.”

“These things can shape you, of course they do.” I still met her in eye. “But there’s only so much to blame. You think to yourself, you’re a good person, it’s not you that’s bad. And the shit keeps rising until you’re chest deep in it- and you think back to your memories and point at them instead. It's not you, it's this thing that happened, you’re allowed to rage. The universe is cruel, why bother?”

My words only partially deflated her, but Sally was smart enough to catch what I was trying to say between them. “So I run away and put on a uniform? That what you did,_ cop_?”

“Circumstance helped, the war was a good levelling field. Do you really think a drell would have worn a C-Sec badge ten years ago?” I asked her.

Sally blinked. “I don’t understand.”

Perhaps Citadel politics was too much of a diversion. “I mean to say, even with new opportunities handed to you, you have to first stop pointing at the memories. But the hardest part is trying.”

My blunt answer startled her. Sally leaned away from me to keep her distance, still on the edge of her anger. “Not as simple as that.”

I could’ve said: _things never are._ It’s hard to be kind when you feel trapped by your childhood, but to the refugees and the duct rats partitioned in camps and slums barely kilometres from our heads, our lives were golden sunshine in comparison.

_\--my name means sunshine,’ she said. ‘Well, “golden dawn,” anyway. Does yours mean anything? I know turians have a similar naming culture to humans, I-_

I let the recollection pass in a sigh. Life was not a competition in survival, the Reapers saw to that. “You don’t have to talk to your mother,” I replied. “Maybe your silence is justified. Maybe you can sit down and she’ll say sorry, if she ever recovers. It’s up to you to if you want to hear it.”

“Mom will never say it,” she replied, bitter.

I paused, unsure how deep the pain went. “You want to tell me what happened? Doesn’t have to be official.” Technically it was by the uniform alone, but I could exercise my discretion too.

Sally looked at the floor. “I wasn’t her doll.” She said similar before: _her toy, her doll, her thing._ “Mom always wants me to be something I’m not. Everything I did was always wrong. Wrong grades, wrong food, wrong friends, wrong clothes.”

“Abuse comes in many forms.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, tired now. “A part of you wants to hear her say sorry, that’s why you’re here,” I said. Sally bristled, but I spoke over her before she could. “But don’t let whatever it is that happened to you control your life forever. You’re allowed to change more about yourself than hair dye and face paints, it’s just harder.”

No matter the species or culture, if it was the giving or receiving, the act of forgiveness was tough to endure. Never once in my life have I thought it should it be assumed; I didn’t ask Sally to forgive her mother, it was not my place to.

The thought alone was enough to make her sit back down, hands back into her abused sleeves. “You still know shit about me,” she said.

“I know enough. But I’m just the dick in uniform telling you not to do drugs and stay in school, or so it’s meant to go. I have no candy to give out, but if want I can have my colleague give you another ration bar from the machine.”

Sally snorted at my reply. “No.” We were both content to stare at the wall in silence, covered in the same bland posters as the waiting area. The scrolling image changed to a Thessian landscape I’d seen before, an endless line of blue. “I’m in school actually,” she said, after the holo changed to an abstract. “For psychology. Taking a few classes, not enough for college yet.”

Why was it always the emotionally vulnerable that are drawn to the profession? As if learning it could cure themselves, somehow. “Good for you. I took a few classes, too. You have to, for C-Sec.”

Sally still looked at me like I had just proclaimed the return of the third coming of the Protheans, but at least she didn’t roll her eyes. “The nurses say I can talk to a counsellor if I want, the hospital has one. Never been to one before, would be interesting to see how it works.”

“Use them. They have a duty of care to you too,” I replied. “You might get something out of it, you never know.”

“Doubt it. Thor says it’s a waste of time, the past is past.”

_-she’s my girl,’ Thor said, a possessive hand on her shoulder-_

Something made me speak up, the same nagging thought as before. “That’s not his decision to make, it’s yours.”

“I know that.”

I leaned back, watching her worry another hole of sleeve. With a decisive click I waved over my details via my omni-tool, a direct line from me to her. “For you. If you ever you feel unsafe.”

She scowled at the blinking window, but took accepted the connection anyway. “Why?”

“Because I have a duty of care too.” We were still alone, the door of the waiting room closed off from the bustle of a working hospital. “I don’t care if you hate her, but your mother is sick for a specific reason. I need to find out why, so it doesn’t happen to someone else.”

Sally whined in frustration, her omni-tool switched off with a flick. “I don’t know shit. I got the call this morning, they said she was dying, so I came in. I’ve not seen her in a year, I told you.”

_-why now?’ I asked him, standing up. ‘Of all the fucking times to give a damn, why now? Why not when I was alone? Why not when I was a fucking child, you left me-_

“I understand.” I thought I did. Her mother was not my father, of course she wasn’t. Instead I put my hands on my knees, my eyes on the floor. “When you last spoke over email, before all this. Did anything stick out in the conversation? Anything you can think of? Doesn’t matter if it seems small.”

“Weirder than the usual Mom shit?” I nodded like I understood. After a pause, Sally answered my question. “She found Jesus, the asari version, anyway. Not Athame, the other guys.”

“Siarist? Prothean? Enkindlers?”

“First one, the ‘we are one’ crap. Fits in with all the meditation and yoga she did already, I just thought it was a level up of her usual fuckery. It’s not unusual, anyway.” The bitterness returned to her voice, a tone I recognised. “She tried to force that shit on me, too.”

“The enthusiasm of the freshly converted is often rapt,” I replied. Phoy Calisi was religious too. “Your mother had a new tattoo. That was unusual, so you said.”

“Yeah, it is.” She briefly smiled, a hesitant thing. “She really hates mine.” Sally rolled up her arm to show me, a varren in a hotdog bun hidden from her fraying sleeves. “I got a piece on my shoulder, and one on my leg too. I’m not showing them, though.”

Ori’s skin flashed briefly in my mind, a blank canvas for ink. If she ever chose to mark herself permanently, I am quite certain it would be etched in purple.

_-it would be a sun,’ she said, drawing a circle on her wrist. Her thin skin was delicate there, purple-blue veins worryingly on show. ‘Why?’ I asked, and Ori startled at-_

“Unique,” I told her. “Are the other two food related too?”

“Nah, The shoulder piece is a flower, needs finishing though. And the leg is an abstract I like, based it on the lyrics from Deathstrike.”

I leaned back into my seat. “Well. That’s enough, I think. You’ve been helpful, Sally. Or Salsa, if you prefer.”

_-here in New Mexico there’s a battle that’s gone on for centuries,’ the waitress said. I frowned at my cooling meal, why did humans insist on talking over food? ‘Green or red. Salsa is fightin’ words here, let me tell you-_

I frowned at the memory. “I’ve had human salsa on vacation- I found it piquant. Is your nickname another food-related anecdote?”

She smiled at my recollection. “Yeah, kinda. It’s Thor’s name for me- Silly Sally, Salsa Verde. I had green hair when we met.” The smile flickered on her face then, a memory of her own passing.

Something about her boyfriend still rubbed me the wrong way, a cop’s instinct prickling my scales. “I always preferred the red,” I told her. “Don’t hesitate to contact me if you think of anything, for whatever reason. I do mean it.”

“Alright.” The smile remained, a small thing. I was only seven years older than her, but the uniform always aged me in the eyes of other species. Sally probably thought I was middle-aged like Patel, a father figure in a stab-vest.

I _wasn’t_. But I could try and be something else.


	13. Smoke Of Grief

The ICU welcomed me back with another chorus of alarms, one more emergency for the staff to deal with. I had left Sally Estrada alone in a room that shielded even my hearing from the noise, her only company the silence of her memory.

She had a better deal. The thrice-fucked alarm was an incessant drilling, but easier to deal with than familial estrangement; it was up to Sally if she wanted contact, even if I understood the reluctance- it took me awhile to accept an open hand too.

_-the grip on my shoulder was heavier than it should be. Not even my own father touched me so much, yet Captain Bailey always insisted on doing something. It was too fucking human, as if somehow he assumed he could-_

The noise rang on. A medical team ran past me towards the unit behind me, dead set on something. Moira Estrada was through there, perhaps the alarm was for her.

_-she’s a cunt.’ I blinked at the description for her own mother, but had heard worse. ‘I’m only here ‘cause the hospital asked me for-_

I hoped not. 

A nurse sitting standing behind the desk smiled at my frown, for all the wrong reasons. “You look lost,” she said. She was the asari from before- Shaena, Patel has called her. The one supposedly interested in me. 

I tugged the sleeves of my jacket straight, everything in its right place. “Not yet, I hope.”

“Hmm, nope,” she said, smiling at something. “Your colleagues are with Doctor Hilaril in the nurse’s office. Just past me, can’t miss it.”

I could just about see them if I leaned forward, but still failed to catch the eye of Patel. The sloped back of a turian in doctor’s whites stood between him and CSI Siks; it would only take mere moments to join them, if I hurried.

_If_. At that precise moment I felt her hot breath on my cheek, my fumbling lack of social grace the cause. I had leaned over her desk without a thought about personal space, the tips of my frill grazing the side of her freckled crest. “Gods, sorry-“

“Not a problem. I’m just doing what I was asked to do.” The breach of propriety amused her more than anything, despite my mumbled apology.

Her words were too languid. Our conversation was now in a place that prickled the scales of my neck in warning, a social trap to fall into. “Ah?” was my articulate response, the plastic of the desk firmly between us again.

She had definitely said those words, in that precise order; hers was a decidedly different reaction to the C-Sec uniform than the teenage scowling from before.

The rounded letters of her uniform told me she was Staff Nurse S. Vaerissae; I had my doubts she was this forward with her patients. “Your human colleague said I had to make sure I grab you and point you in the right direction of the meeting. I don’t think he meant literally, but... you never know.” 

Shaena smiled again, this time my personal space invaded with a lean. It could have been a friendly gesture, of course; I had done the same to her, but even unprovoked I found certain asari were usually interested in _something_. A drell’s clear memories seemed a tempting melding experience, but I always refused- even if I knew them.

_-anyone told you you’re fuckin’ weird looking? For a drell, I mean.’ Bats had said it in all seriousness, despite the liquor. ‘I mean- you ain’t ugly, don’t get me wrong, but it’s weird. Y’know? No offence-_

Not all asari were curious, thank all the Gods. I would be lying if I said it was never a thought followed through- I had been with Shaena’s kind before. Blue skin, dappled freckles, wide eyes-

_-the studded pearls of her alien earlobes glinted in the shadows, still a dull shine compared to the wetness of her mouth. ‘It’s so very simple,’ Ori said, her human hair snared in my-_

Well.

I would never actually go through with it, of course. We had reached an agreement, her and me- a short conversation made after a month together. 

_-it’s just you.’ Ori said it sleepily into the crook on my shoulder. ‘No one else. You better be the same too.’ She snorted then, a finger tracing the frown on my brow. ‘Is that what got you worried? You look so-_

No.

No more memories. Not in the middle of a fucking ICU, in darkened corridors that reeked of antiseptic and sadness. Being with_ her_ did not render me blind to an advance, but the memory of what we were still lingered like a brand. 

I wouldn't have done a damn thing about the situation even if I was a single man. It didn’t matter if this Shaena was a scale _or_ a uniform chaser, in my experience neither was worth the effort- as my inept track record with relationships had shown.

I cleared my throat before I spoke. “I’m needed on a C-Sec matter,” was my stunning reply.

“I know.” Shaena smiled again at my discomfort, for all the wrong reasons. “Happy to help,” she said. “My name is Shaena, by the way.”

It was an awkward shuffle around her desk to join the others; I could see the office was already too cramped for an interview, barely a storage cupboard with three terminals. Judging by the discarded datapads, files and bottles of water, the place was a hub for the staf fof the ICU, the table interface well-worn from use. It was not a private meeting; a harassed salarian nurse worked in the corner over a busy screen, but too busy to notice my arrival.

Three people had already swallowed the space, but four made it unbearable. “You think the point of entry was made from the left side?” Patel said, refusing to introduce me to the turian doctor.

She looked at me briefly before speaking. “Perhaps. Seems that way.” 

I said nothing in return. CSI Siks tapped my shoulder with a spindly salarian finger, and I felt the poke even through the layers of my uniform. “Glad you made it,” he said, a put upon stage whisper to the conversation. “This is Doctor Hilaril. She’s in charge of Moira Estrada’s care.”

That he was here was unusual, but not unexpected. The mould found on both the victims was a source of fascination to the pathologists, but I still found his presence a mild insult- as if somehow the slack-jawed detectives from homicide needed their hands held throughout a routine interview.

“I’m not going to repeat everything I just said,” she replied. Doctor Hilaril was not happy at the interruption. Despite the sharp glaring, I could see she was young and wrapped in that dignified beauty turians liked about themselves, even if she was dressed crest to talon in hospital whites. 

The detachment came with the job I suppose, not the species; doctors always looked like they had to be somewhere else, no matter where they come from. Doctor Hilaril was still a novel sight, though; the Hierarchy often kept the best of their medical staff for their own use after the war, tucked away to work on their colonies for their people. 

Doctor Hilaril’s spotless uniform was a stark contrast to the scuffed boots of my C-Sec blues. “Apologies for my tardiness,” I said, my hands behind my back. “Please continue.” 

“I know your time is precious, it’s not expected of you to recap,” said CSI Siks, soothing over the cracks. “I can go over what was missed.”

“He’s used to working with C-Sec,” Patel added, stabbing a thumb in Siks’s direction. “Uses pretty vids and crayons to explain the long words and everything, it’s very helpful. You mentioned something about an entry point?”

Her mandibles quirked briefly, a flash of humour. I was always baffled when Patel’s charm worked on the general public, but it wasn’t as if they were subjected to it daily. “It’s only a theory,” she said. “Her left deltoid was severely swollen when she came into the emergency room, and the infection favours that side of her body.”

“No signs of intravenous use?” I asked. 

“Not that deep,” Hilaril replied. “It looked intradermal, just a reaction on her upper arm swollen around a pin-point. Our own labs spotted the fungal growth in her bloodwork, something called-” Hilaril checked her datapad, unused to the word “-_servisini_. A keeper vat mould.”

Siks blinked rapidly in reaction, almost as if we could see his thoughts processing. “Subdermal injections are often used as a site for immune vaccinations in humans. Your labs find anything in her medical files? Perhaps a recent allergy shot.”

“No. It was the first thing we checked once I spotted it.” Hilaril’s brow plate moved in thought. “I know how to keep her stable, but the cause of the organ dysfunction and sepsis is still unknown. Our own pathology is running tests, but until then Ms. Estrada needs manual ventilation and dialysis to live. The transplant list hasn’t gotten back to us, but we’re talking about cryogenics if the wait is too long, her insurance covers it.”

Patel made a strange sucking noise, an attempt at sympathy. “Not everything can be grown in a lab,” he said. 

Right, of course. Humans can do that, just artificially produce a spare kidney from nothing; drell could not, as if somehow our flesh and bone was too flimsy to reproduce in the same laboratory setting. “What about the tattoo?” I asked.

My question earned me another sharp glare from the doctor. “Your partner here already asked about that,” she said. “Seems a flimsy spur to grasp, if you pardon the idiom. I will confirm she had one, but it was nowhere near the point of surgical entry, however.” 

“I find tattoos a challenge after I close,” said CSI Siks. “But when you get them lined up just right, it’s delightfully pleasing.” 

That his patients were often dead was a loud unsaid, and I cleared my throat. “Did it look fresh? The tattoo, I mean.” I asked.

The nurse in the corner spoke then, pausing in his typing by the terminal. I had politely ignored his presence, considering the others had too. “It had healed over,” he said. “The tattoo. Not new at all.”

Dr. Hilaril turned so we could both see him, a tired-looking salarian in a rumpled tunic. “Nurse Yinok would know. One of our hardest workers here,” she said. 

Yinok preened at the compliment. “I’m assigned to Ms. Estrada’s room,” he replied, smiling still. “The skin over the tattoo is old. I was curious at the design- human art is an interest.”

“Anything else you call tell us?" I asked, sensing a break."Perhaps a photo, or a skin sample of the area.”

Yinok’s eyes flicked briefly to Hilaril before replying. “That’s up for the Doctor to decide,” he said. Whatever was on the terminal was more important than our conversation; he returned to it, eyes on the scrolling holo.

“When in doubt, ask a nurse,” said Patel, making Yinok briefly smile over the flickering screen. With a throat clear, he turned to face Hilaril, a harmless smile aimed in her direction. “If we wouldn’t mind troubling your staff for a picture, it’ll help with our enquiries. A biomarker too, so we can work out when she got the ink.”

Dr. Hilaril looked him over before speaking, a small pause in silence. “I’m not handing over her entire medical record. How is an old tattoo even pertinent anyway?”

“It might not be, of course. But this is not a normal case,” I said, forcing myself to keep my voice neutral. “And it is now a matter of public interest. Ms. Estrada is the second example of this infection. Failure to disclose anything to help the case may expose others to a risk of serious harm- a woman is already dead, Dr. Hilaril.”

The haughty scowl had returned. “I know. I’ve been reminded.”

Patel shifted on his feet. “What my colleague means-“

Arashu spare me from the petty, especially when wrong. “A warrant isn’t needed,” I said a little louder, speaking over him. “Not at this stage. I’ve been reassured both by you and CSI that this _servisini_ is not contagious, but we need to work out why it exists in the first place. To do that, we need your cooperation.”

Silence was my answer. “You don’t deal with Investigations much, do you?” CSI Siks said, gently laughing at something. “They’re like a corivel with a fat balkus when they sink their claws in, believe me.”

Still no reply from the doctor. With a brisk snap of her omni-tool, she cleared her throat. “I need to prep for surgery. I will deal with this all after I finish my work, if you don’t mind. I will send you what_ I_ think is pertinent.”

I did mind. In fact, I would wager my entire fucking month’s pay that Patel and CSI Siks felt the same, but by their silence it appeared I was shoved into the role of belligerent cop, and was forced to play it out to the bitter end. “No. I _insist_ you send us everything before you go,” I said through my teeth. “Not just what you think we need. A transfer won’t take long, especially since we’re standing right in front of you.”

_Push me further_, I thought. Do it. 

Hilaril’s pause was still too long for my liking. “It will be done,” she said, a reply tossed over her shoulder as she left. “One of you follow me.”

Doctor Hilaril had looked at CSI Siks, not at us. “Ethical duties of confidentiality are always a balance,” he replied, gesturing at her to lead the way. “The obligation remains even in forensics, though there’s far less talking about it.”

“I’d be worried if your patients talk back,” she replied. “I’ve done something wrong if they did.”

No look was glanced back. Somehow we were beneath her time, my stomach pinching at the thought of a professional brush off. “Doctor Hilaril, I-“

Patel tugged my elbow once, a silent request to keep quiet. “It’s his turn. The sweet after the sting,” he said, under his breath. “Just stay here and look angry, you’re good at that.” 

We could still hear their conversation down the stark hallway outside the room. CSI Siks chuckled at something Hilaril said, his voice loud enough to echo against the walls. “That reminds me of a case a few years ago,” he replied. “A krogan gentleman pronounced dead at the scene. He woke up in the back of the ambulance shuttle right before he was wheeled into the morgue, and-”

The rest of his words were swallowed by the alarm, a familiar sound in the ICU. “Got to go,” Yinok said, darting around us. “Move.”

My elbow was tugged again. “Honestly. You’re all puffed up for nothing,” Patel said, a large eyebrow raised my way. “Let Siks work his charm. He understands doctors and hospitals, play the idiot in uniform a little longer.”

I shook his hold off. “We don’t need permission to see her medical files.”

“I know, but Siks is here for a reason. This is their case as much as ours, you know.”

Siks returned to us with a small smile five minutes later, an inconspicuous datapad shoved in his top pocket. “Photos of the tattoo should be emailed to you soon,” he said. “Unless you have other things to do here?”

Patel looked at me to answer the question. “No. Sally-Ann Estrada was forthcoming enough, we have a statement.”

I said nothing else. Patel nudged me again once we reached our skycar, an annoying human gesture of touch. “You’re like a little drell balloon, stop it. Your throat is still doing the puffy thing, if you had tits I’d tell you to calm them, we got what we need. That interview with the daughter was a tidy bonus too, the boss will be pleased.”

His inane reply was of interest to CSI Siks. “How does one calm tits anyway?” he asked, frowning at the idiom. “They don’t appear particularly rowdy, on any species I’ve come across.” 

It was disconcerting watching a salarian cup pretend breasts. Patel laughed a little too loudly, a release to the dour mood of the ICU unit. “_Oh my days_. I can take that comment so many ways, sir. If only Detective T’Lori was here, he would love this conversation.”

“Do not tempt fate.” My jacket was rumpled, and looked how I felt. I neatened the collar with one flick, desperate to leave the hospital parking bay. “Fucking thrice-fucked red-tape. Fuck hospitals.”

I knew I had snarled the words; even the mild Siks blinked at my tone, a brief flicker of sympathy in his gaze. “Well. No one comes here for the food.”

Patel shrugged, still buoyed by the promise of a calmed bosom. “My wife does.” Given the chance, he would happily talk about his family at great length; I knew his spouse had something to do with hospital catering, far away from the bustle of patients and the baggage of trauma they carried. “She works over at the Thun Hospice,” he added, leaning against my skycar. “Pays well, good team around her. The commute to Bachjret is a hassle, but can’t have everything.” 

CSI Siks put his hands behind his back, his large eyes to the blinking lights of the hospital entrance. “I think I will deal with Dr. Hilaril from this point on, if you don’t mind. For the best, she took a dislike to you both, I can’t think why.” 

I still bristled, thought a half-hearted attempt this time. “We did nothing wrong.”

Patel patted me on the shoulder again. “Can’t win them all, chin up. I know it’s hard, what with the-“ he said, vaguely gesturing to mine. “A heavy burden to wear.” 

Siks peered in interest. “Oh?” At my scowling, he smiled. “Ah. Banter. Got it.”

Now was not the fucking time for Patel’s stabbing attempt at wit, but he still laughed at his own joke anyway. “Do you need a lift, sir?” he asked Siks, standing as we were like spare pricks at a temple meet outside the hospital. “I’m sure Krios can drive us there in style.”

Siks smiled, a hand tapping the datapad in his pocket. “A walk will give me time to think on the case. It all reminds me of a similar outbreak a decade ago, before your time anyway.”

It could be a new lead. “Sir?” I asked.

A bony hand waved my way. “Oh, not like that, I doubt there’s a connection. But I’ll forward you the thing I’m thinking of, an old-fashioned botulism case. Some skin tightening treatment gone wrong in a Lower Ward salon, the serum used was mixed with bone meal. Caused a lot of damage before it was caught- no deaths, though.” 

“I can see why you made the connection,” said Patel. “Both women strike me as the sort to afford the fancier kind of treatment not found in alleyways, though.”

Siks shrugged. “Outside of mods, the beauty industry is mostly _kriszkak_ oil. Waste of money, really.” I must’ve appeared too interested, as Siks flicked his hand again. “It happened a decade ago, Detective Krios. I have to work out how keeper vats are weaponized before anything else.” 

No one had said anything about weapons, not yet. So far the case felt like a string of separate accidents, no actual intent in malicious harm had been found.

At least, _yet_. “I want to look around Phoy Calisi’s apartment,” I said, after Siks left us. “I haven’t been yet. Moira Estrada’s too. Might be something there we can use.”

Patel sat down heavily in the cruiser with a sigh, as if standing still for too long was a trauma. 

“You can interview the neighbours too when you’re there,” he said, crossing his arms. “Lucky boy.”

The slow speed of the traffic was enough for me to set off the blue lights of the cruiser, not quite the sirens. We needed more than religion and tattoos for a connection- maybe it was money.

Phoy Calisi lived in a nice part of Zakera, or so the residents told themselves. Before the war, the level reeked of credits; 34th Heights survived the mess of moving back to the Widow, but now came with a brand new view of a busted Presidium. 

No one wanted a broken reminder of what the Citadel went through, even if it lowered the rent. The apartment complex was still sheltered enough to have its own door man, just like Ori’s; a balding human took one look at our uniform and frowned, but a resignation settled when he realised we were staying. 

“You guys going to be around any longer?” he asked, scratching at his neck. “Only the residents are worried, and have been asking questions I don’t have answers to.”

“Only needed a little longer, no need to trouble yourself,” Patel replied, smiling in return. “I’m sure someone will be around to tidy up soon.” 

It was a good lie. The holotape of a crime scene perimeter glimmered over Phoy Calisi’s apartment door, pixels already fading. Behind it, she had crammed every surface she could with dusty knickknacks and hand-made mementos, hardly keeping to the fanatical Siarist beliefs about limited possessions and modest living. 

A mass of plain photo frames in the living room took up most of the space, though the holos were switched off. Even the furniture seemed to bend itself to face them, a mute congregation set around an altar. 

“Happier times,” Patel said, tapping the glass to wake up the screens. Images of Phoy and her children scrolled by in holo, a pre-war life of colony vacations and outdoor hiking. “Her daughters were on Thessia during the war.”

“So it’s a shrine,” I replied, looking away. Other species were strange about remembrance of their dead; even Ori remembered her parents in odd ways, but If I could forget the face of my mother, would I still say the same?

_-sunlight dappled her face, Mami held the shell up to examine it. ‘What a clever find,’ she said, and my chest burst in relief that she liked it. ‘You found me treasure-_

Patel frowned at me, almost disappointed at my discomfort. “Just an ordinary home, lad,” he said. “We’ve been to worse.”

A grey stain was partitioned off in the kitchen, almost like the burn of a dropped pan. This was where Phoy Calisi died alone, clawing at her herself in agony before she did. 

_-mami’s blood was on the white of the tiles. They missed a part when cleaning, a dark red where-_

Crime scenes in kitchens were always a trigger. I pressed the back on my hand at my brow at the memory, careful not to stain my gloves with my scales. “There’s nothing here,” I said. 

CSI had already stripped the place of the important things -datapads, omnitools, DNA scans- but a corner of her bedroom interested me the most. With careful hands I touched the table there; it was an old-fashioned writing desk sloped in the usual asari fashion, all curved lines and hidden drawers. There was a knack to finding all the secrets, but antiques like this were only a puzzle once.

A more impatient officer would’ve used an omni-blade, but I had time to push and pull the drawers until something clicked. An old silver necklace tarnished with age lay forgotten about in a velvet pouch in one drawer, but the pile of old-fashioned scrolls next to it was the find. 

Phoy Calisi kept the words hidden away for a reason. “Love notes?” Patel asked, just as curious. “Real ink, too. Looks recent.”

“I think they’re prayer scrolls.” I had inherited my father’s book collection; a similar scroll was amongst it all, a gift from an actual Justicar. I met the unsettling woman all of twice, a novel experience I’d rather not repeat.

“Why would you keep prayers locked up?” Patel asked. 

It was a good question. “Not all religions shout themselves from the top of the Wards,” I replied. The chip of my omni-tool had several languages packs installed, and my arm steady for the scanner to work. 

I soon recognised the format of poetry, moving my hand so Patel could see it, to his animated squinting. “Probably something lost in translation,” he said. “It reads strange.”

  
_I awake to a world_

_Dead of birdsong_

_Storms above my head_

_No wind and rain on the Citadel_

_But tens of thousands of ??? blossoms from the trees_

_I wonder how many have fallen._

“Not very religious.” The omni-tool struggled with a few words and left them unchanged, but I soon got the gist; it was mawkish dreck, even transcribed in Standard Galactic. “Zakera Park has several blossoming trees,” I said, trying to place the poem. “During _janiris_ season they change colour. All fake, but I’m told the Presidium used to have the real thing.”

Patel snorted. “Well. I’m sure a creative soul could turn that into a metaphor about social class, but I’m only a detective. Anything else?”

I dumped an entire drawer onto the bed behind us, a gentle hush of paper. “A lot more poems, I suppose.” Another scroll caught my eye, mainly because of the inked doodle of a swirling fern in the margin. My omni-tool translated it faster than before, this time a poem written a year ago:

_I keep myself breaking by force_

_With a sword in my hand_

_Forged by the smoke of grief_

_A stumble towards the fight._

_I will not forget my home._

_I will not forget her daughters._

_My people did not die, _

_Not while I breathe the air_

_They left behind_

_Choked by words unspoken._

It was a little better than the last, but still clumsy. At first the words resonated, a small stroke of a shared mourning. It did not take long for the bitterness to surface, bred from decades of rote Compact learning. It burnt white-hot in my stomach: what would an asari know of forgotten nations and the ‘smoke of grief?’ I could tell her, any drell could- let her look a relic in the eye and say it to our face.

If she was alive, of course. 

Because she wasn’t. 

Thrice fuck it all, I was already tired, despite my day off. I don’t know what Phoy Calisi’s outpouring of poetic grief would tell me, other than she was sad and alone. Maybe that’s all it would show, but I still had to check every scrap of paper; I shoved the entire collection of scrolls into a sealed evidence bag, along with the tarnished necklace I found. 

“Not much, but something,” said Patel, “I’ll take these off you and head back while you speak to the neighbours. I can catch a lift back with a nearby patrol, don’t worry about me.”

I wouldn’t. “The Gods forbid you walk,” I replied, sealing the bags with a firm tug. “Why now?”

Am infuriatingly smug grin was my answer first. “I need to speak to a man about a keeper vat. You can deal with Moira Estrada’s apartment like a big boy, I believe in you.”

Right, of course. Left alone to do the grunt work, the usual course with Patel; there were only four neighbours in the proximity who might’ve seen something, but it was still worth another try. “What do you mean, a man?” I asked, frowning at the excuse. 

“I have my leads too.” Patel tapped his nose twice, an odd gesture. “You can find out the connection between Ms. Estrada and Mother Calisi, and I can poke the vats. There’s a market for everything in the Lower Wards, you know. Even old tubs of protein jelly sell for something. Follow the money, a tale old as time.”

Door to door was something the constables did first, but sometimes another trip was required- especially when we had nothing. Most of the homes were empty, but on the third ring one finally came to something.

“Yes?” The tone was annoyed. By the gruff smokiness, I guessed they were batarian- the name of the apartment’s owner was listed as Amadal Sevik -a very turian name- but the culture confusion was hardly an oddity on the Citadel.

“Detective Kolyat Krios of C-Sec.” I was left talking to a door, though the line was open enough for me to hear the faint squeaky chirrups of something in the background; either it was a loud vid or alive- I hoped for the former. “It’s about an incident that happened two doors from you.”

“The lady who died?” The comm crackled as she spoke again. “Give me a moment, I have to shut the moxies in.”

“I can wait.” Her reply explained the noise; I wondered if she had a pet licence for the moxies, I didn’t for my cat. Fish was my own vocal contraband, one that bitched at the sight of the bottom of the food bowl.

The door finally slid open to a small batarian woman dressed in flowing green silks, chunky orange stone beads around her neck and arm. My guess was well on the money; her four eyes were neatly lined in a blue something or other Ori would have appreciated, even if I didn’t. 

“I thought you were the letting agency,” she said, smiling at my arrival. “I told them no interruptions today, but they never seem to listen.” 

She didn't seem like the batarians from the Ward's refugee camps, no taint of a Caste lingered. Nor was she the Terminus kind, the merchants and the mercs, the outcasts who make do. “Are you moving?” I voiced the question under a polite enquiry, but it was an interesting coincidence.

A grimace was my reply first. “Just to the other side of the Ward. Still a hassle.”

I was soon seated in her kitchen with a cup of tea, a warmer welcome than most. She introduced herself as Taz- the name of the apartment was her wife’s, which explained the difference. “Amadal died in the war. I never got around to changing it,” Taz explained, a quiet reply. She looked at my uniform, blinking at the title Homicide And Violent Crime below the C-Sec logo. “Was it… you know?” she asked, bottom lip dented by the worrying of her pointed teeth. “Bad. For her, I mean. No one told me how she died.”

It was a terrible death, but not quite a homicide. “Nothing’s been confirmed, but we haven’t ruled anything out.”

“Oh! Poor thing.” Her hands clasped her mouth in shock. Ori did the same, so did asari. I never saw it in my own kind, despite the similarities; funny how some gestures got lost in translation. 

The squeaking of the other room continued, loud enough for me to pause before I asked my question. “Did you know her well?” 

“She was just a neighbour.” Taz would’ve said more, but a higher pitched squeak carried over into the kitchen. “Do you mind if I let them out? The longer I keep them locked up, the louder they’ll whine. They won’t do you harm.”

_-she wound through my legs, tail bent at the tip, a constant furry bag of noise and demands. ‘You have been fed, Fish- the VI tells me,’ I told her. ‘No more-_

“It’s fine. Can you tell me anything about Phoy Calisi? Was she a good neighbour?”

Taz almost shouted the reply from the hallwsay, to match the volume of the now frenzied squealing. “Good enough. Hated the moxies, though. Think she was the one that complained about me letting them run in the corridor outside. They weren’t doing any harm, either.”

The squeaking of the accused was louder at their freedom; a chorus of clawed moxie feet rushed to sniff my boots, a new person to inspect. They made a lot of noise for three animals; one of them struggled despite their enthusiasm- understandable, considering their back legs were held up by a wheeled trolley. 

I found them lumpy-looking things, but they were still a beloved pet to turians. Most were as small as Fish, but a tough plated hide and a long snout were in place of fur and fangs, a gentle omnivore designed for foraging. It was said they domesticated themselves on Palaven, thanks to the way they dealt with vermin; moxies were an animal who earned their keep- fitting for the Hierarchy, I suppose. 

I had my doubts these three could catch their own tail, let alone their dinner. “Friendly enough,” I replied, after their wiggling bodies had calmed down. I held out my gloved hand for one to sniff, softly licked by a thin blue tongue in return. 

“Too friendly, if you ask me. Don’t give them any of your tea, they’re on a dextro diet.” 

The novelty of my appearance had soon worn off. The moxie on wheels ran over my foot in their haste towards their bowl, more concerned about their food than my old boots. “Did Phoy have many visitors?” I asked, thankful for the ceramic plating. “Friends, family?”

Taz frowned, a contrite look. “No, always alone. Maybe I should’ve spoken to her more, but she didn’t seem lonely to me. Seemed like she was always going somewhere. I don’t know if she had a job, didn’t look like it.”

“She didn’t.”

_-the swirls of a siarist prayer wheel, tattooed onto a back. Fresh, but-_

I paused, the memory lingering. I could ask about the religion connection directly, but it could be construed as leading a witness on. “Do you know if she did anything? Any social clubs or charities perhaps, an organisation she liked.”

It was a fumbled lead. “Surely you would know more than me?” Taz replied. “I only met the woman a few times.”

Her comment was not uncommon for an apartment complex, but there was still a thread I could pull. “What made you think it was her that complained about your moxies?” 

Taz straightened her back, all four eyes narrowed at the question. “What are you getting at?”

“You mentioned she disliked them.” I had rephrased the question calmly, but it was still a prod to answer.

“It was nothing,” she replied, confused. “I was throwing Tizzik’s ball in the hallway, he needs room to run thanks to his wheels. Anyway, she was on her way back from something, and Hizzik ran over to greet her. She acted like he soiled her shoes: ‘_get this thing off me!_’ Pah. All he did was sniff them.” Taz paused, then looked at my uniform again. “That was all.”

I doubted a crossed word in the hallway was enough for Taz to force a virus into her neighbour’s immune system, but it was something I couldn’t leave out of a report. “What was she on her way back from, do you think?”

She frowned again. “Shopping, maybe. She had bags. Ration depot, looked like.”

It was nothing much of anything. “Thank you for your help,” I said, pushing away my cup. “Good luck in your move.” 

In my haste to leave I knocked over a pile of BDUs by the entrance, the usual junk mail even my apartment suffered from. One caught my eye, even though it was silent: _Confide In Me._

“Blasted things,” Taz said, helping me pick them up. “I keep on meaning to take them to recycling.”

The leaflet in question was a thin plastic, a weak holo in garish pink. A cheap fabrication designed to wedge itself in the gap of a sliding door, and one that so far managed to do what it was meant to: get my attention. 

_Are you lost? Are you lonely? Do you need help with your love life, missing family members, financial problems? We can help. Call now and be listened to._

A bite mark decorated one corner, the clawed suspect in question licking the door of the hallway. “Interesting,” I said. I had seen the same thing a thousand times over, no matter what part of the Ward I was on.

An entire stack of discarded takeout menus, catalogues and suspect MLM schemes were dumped in my hands, slippery plastic hard to hold. “You can have these, too. Maybe you can arrest this lot for a change,” he said. “Constant littering of my apartment, but it gives the moxies something to chew.”

I threw the rest in the trash, but the pink monstrosity remained in my pocket, even through fruitless interviews with the other neighbours, even as I drove along the freeway to the next victim’s apartment. 

My wrist vibrated with a personal call. I was free to talk to Ori, at least. A conversation alone in the cruiser was enough, even though I couldn’t see her. 

“You answered!” she said, after the second beep. “Strange. I was going to leave you a message.”

The sarcasm was enough to make me smile, but I could give as good as I got. “Terribly sorry. I can close the call, if you like.”

“No, I can adjust to the indignity of speaking to you instead. When are you off?”

The million credit question. “Ah-”

“Oh, _ah_. One of those, is it?”

“Yes. And I don’t know, is the answer.” I sighed, drumming my hands on the cruiser console. “Lots to do. I’m sorry, _orishen_.”

“It’s fine,” she said breezily, and I believed her. “I just thought you would like to come out for a change, that’s all. We’re getting dinner and drinks first.”

“We?” Who knew who they were with Ori, her acquaintance list was endless.

“Just a few people from the boardgame club. You know them, obviously.”

“Making friends already?” The club was full of mostly old, mostly retired people, no matter the species. No one ‘went out’ on the Wards, not in the way Ori was talking about. “Right.”

“Of course. Casino is in the cards too. Or is it cards in the casino? Probably both.”

“_Casino_?” I startled so much I almost lost control of the cruiser, but a puzzle piece soon clicked into place. “Oh.”

Her laughter was a dangerous thing, tinkling like bells. “You’re wanted for a heist. Your job is to stand around the table in a slinky dress to distract the players, while I clean up at Skyllian Five and chomp cigars. Are you in?”

The elderly turians who ran the place were hardly casino people, but to a certain obnoxious salarian gambler it was quite the opposite. “Gods dammit, _Selai Vord._ Do not be dragged into his schemes, Ori- he is banned from several gambling establishments for a reason.”

My caution was only an amusement. “Oh stop, I’m only winding you up. Selai’s a mathematician- what can he do, anyway? It’s nothing illegal. I’m curious what casinos are like in Zakera, it’s for work, really. Think of it as me scouting venues for future events.”

“Right. Of course, for work.” All I appeared to be doing was throwing back her replies, this was not the conversation I thought I would be having. “Well. Have fun. And look after yourself.”

“I always do,” she replied. “And I can say the same to you.” I wanted to speak, but she had ideas. I heard the mumbling of another in the call- perhaps Selai. “I have to go, off to try roasted hestek- apparently Selai knows a guy. Not had that in years, you know-“

The line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update? Woah. Please drop in and say hello if you're reading! Sorry for the wait.


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